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THE  LIBRARY 

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THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


YOUD  LIKE  YOUR  PAPA  TO  COME  BACK   HOME  FROM   THE  WAR?" 

[Page  417] 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  NORTH  AND  SOUTH 


BY 

THOMAS  DIXON 

AUTHOR  OF 

THE  BIRTH  OF  A  NATION, 
THE  LEOPARD'S  SPOTS,  ETC. 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW    YORK 

Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


COPYRIGHT,     1921,    BY 

THOMAS    DIXON 


PRINTED   IN   TEE   UNITED   STATES  OF   AMERICA 


DEDICATED  TO 

MY  FELLOW  MEMBERS  OF  THE 

KAPPA  ALPHA  FRATERNITY 

FOUNDED          UNDER 

THE  INSPIRATION  OF 

ROBERT  E.  LEE 

1868 


2098238 


TO  THE  READER 

Now  that  my  story  is  done  I  see  that  it  is  the  strangest 
fiction  that  I  have  ever  written. 

Because  it  is  true.  It  actually  happened.  Every  char- 
acter in  it  is  historic.  I  have  not  changed  even  a  name. 
Every  event  took  place.  Therefore  it  is  incredible.  Yet 
I  have  in  my  possession  the  proofs  establishing  each  char- 
acter and  each  event  as  set  forth.  They  are  true  beyond 
question. 

THOMAS  DIXON 
CURRITUCK  LODGE 

Munden,  Va, 


LEADING  CHARACTERS  OF  THE  STORY 


ROBERT  E.  LEE 
MRS.  LEE 

CUSTIS 

MARY 

MRS.  MARSHALL 

UNCLE  BEN 

SAM 

J.  E.  B.  STUART 

FLORA  COOKE 

PHIL  SHERIDAN 

FRANCIS  PRESTON  BLAIR 

SENATOR  ROBERT  TOOMBS 

JOHN  BROWN 

JOHN  E.  COOK 

VIRGINIA  KENNEDY 

GERRIT  SMITH 

GEORGE  EVANS 

F.  B.  SANBORN 

REV.  THOMAS  "W.  HIGGINSON 

WM.  C.  RIVES 

GEN.  E.  P.  ALEXANDER 

JOHN  DOYLE 

MAHALA  DOYLE 

EDMOND  RUFFIN 


The  Southern  Commander. 

His  Wife. 

His  older  Son. 

His  Daughter. 

Lee's  Sister. 

The  Butler. 

A  Slave. 

"The  Flower  of  Cavaliers.'9 

His  Sweetheart. 

His  Schoolmate. 

Lincoln's  Messenger. 

of  Georgia. 

of  Osawatomie. 

His  Spy. 

Cook's  Victim. 

A  Philanthropist. 

A  Labor  Leader. 

Brown's  Organizer. 

A  Revolutionist. 

Confederate  Senator 

of  Lee's  Artillery. 

A  Poor  White. 

His  Wife. 

A  Virginia  Planter. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  fireflies  on  the  Virginia  hills  were  blinking  in  the 
dark  places  beneath  the  trees  and  a  katydid  was 
singing  in  the  rosebush  beside  the  portico  at  Arling- 
ton.    The  stars  began  to  twinkle  in  the  serene  sky.     The 
lights   of  Washington  flickered   across   the   river.     The 
Capitol  building  gleamed  argus-eyed  on  the  hill.    Congress 
was  in  session,  still  wrangling  over  the  question  of  Slavery 
and  its  extension  into  the  territories  of  the  West. 

The  laughter  of  youth  and  beauty  sifted  down  from 
open  windows.  Preparations  were  being  hurried  for  the 
ball  in  honor  of  the  departing  cadets  —  Custis  Lee,  his 
classmate,  Jeb  Stuart,  and  little  Phil  Sheridan  of  Ohio 
whom  they  had  invited  in  from  Washington. 

The  fact  that  the  whole  family  was  going  to  West  Point 
with  the  boys  and  Colonel  Robert  E.  Lee,  the  new  Super- 
intendent, made  no  difference.  One  excuse  for  an  old- 
fashioned  dance  in  a  Southern  home  was  as  good  as  an- 
other. The  main  thing  was  to  bring  friends  and  neighbors, 
sisters  and  cousins  and  aunts  together  for  an  evening  of 


A  whippo'will  cried  his  weird  call  from  a  rendezvous 
in  the  shadows  of  the  lawn,  as  Sam  entered  the  great  hall 
and  began  to  light  the  hundreds  of  wax  tapers  in  the  chan- 
deliers. 

1 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


"Move  dat  furniture  back  now!"  he  cried  to  his  assist- 
ants. "And  mind  yo'  p's  and  q's.  Doan  yer  break 
nuttin." 

His  sable  helpers  quietly  removed  the  slender  mahogany 
and  rosewood  pieces  to  the  adjoining  rooms.  They 
laughed  at  Sam's  new-found  note  of  dignity  and  authority. 

He  was  acting  butler  to-night  in  Uncle  Ben's  place.  No 
servant  was  allowed  to  work  when  ill — no  matter  how  light 
[the  tasks  to  which  he  was  assigned.  Sam  was  but  twenty 
years  old  and  he  had  been  given  the  honor  of  superintend- 
ing the  arrangements  for  the  dance.  And,  climax  of  all, 
he  had  been  made  leader  of  the  music  with  the  sole  right 
;to  call  the  dances,  although  he  played  only  the  triangle  in 
the  orchestra.  He  was  in  high  fettle. 

When  the  first  carriage  entered  the  grounds  his  keen 
iear  caught  the  crunch  of  wheels  on  the  gravel.  He  hurried 
to  call  the  mistress  and  young  misses  to  their  places  at  the 
door.  He  also  summoned  the  boys  from  their  rooms  up- 
stairs. He  had  seen  the  flash  of  spotless  white  in  the  car- 
riage. It  meant  beauty  calling  to  youth  on  the  hill.  Sam 
knew. 

Phil  came  downstairs  with  Custis.  The  spacious  sweep 
of  the  hall,  its  waxed  floor  clear  of  furniture,  with  hun- 
dreds of  blinking  candles  flashing  on  its  polished  surface, 
caught  his  imagination.  It  was  a  fairy  world — this  gen- 
erous Southern  home.  In  spite  of  its  wide  spaces,  and  its 
dignity,  it  was  friendly.  It  caught  his  boy's  heart. 

Mrs.  Lee  was  just  entering.  Custis'  eyes  danced  at  the 
sight  of  his  mother  in  full  dress.  He  grasped  Phil's  arm 
and  whispered : 

"Isn't  my  mother  the  most  beautiful  woman  you  ever 
saw?" 

He  spoke  the  words  half  to  himself.  It  was  the  instinc- 
tive worship  of  the  true  Southern  boy,  breathed  in  genuine 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 3 

reverence,  with  an  awe  that  was  the  expression  of  a  re- 
ligion. 

"I  was  just  thinking  the  same  thing,  Custis,"  was  the 
sober  reply. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Phil,"  he  hastened  to  apologize.  "I 
didn't  mean  to  brag  about  my  mother  to  you.  It  justi 
slipped  out.  I  couldn't  help  if.  I  was  talking  to  my- 
self." 

"You  needn't  apologize.  I  know  how  you  feel.  SKe'g 
already  made  me  think  I'm  one  of  you — " 

He  paused  and  watched  Mary  Lee  enter  from  tKe  lawn 
leaning  on  Stuart's  arm.  Stuart's  boyish  banter  was  still 
ringing  in  her  ears  as  she  smiled  at  him  indulgently.  She 
hurried  to  her  mother  with  an  easy,  graceful  step  and  took 
Ker  place  beside  her.  She  was  fine,  exquisite,  bewitching.; 
She  had  never  come  out  in  Society.  She  had  been  born 
in  it.  She  had  her  sweethearts  before  thirteen  and  no? 
one  had  left  a  shadow  on  her  quiet,  beautiful  face.  She 
(demanded,  by  her  right  of  birth  as  a  Southern  girl,  years 
of  devotion.  And  the  Southern  boy  of  the  old  regime  was 
willing  to  serve. 

Phil  stood  witH  Stuart  and  watched  Custis  kiss  a  dozen 
pretty  girls  as  they  arrived  and  call  each  one  cousin. 

"Is  it  a  joke?"  he  asked  Stuart  curiously. 

"What?" 

"This  cousin  business." 

"Not  much.  You  don't  think  I'd  let  him  be  sucK  a  pig 
if  I  could  help  him,  do  you?" 

"Are  they  all  kin?" 

"Yes — "  Stuart  laughed.  "Some  of  it  gets  pretty  thin 
in  the  second  and  third  cousin  lines.  But  it's  thick  enougK 
for  him  to  get  a  kiss  from  every  one — confound  him!" 

The  hall  was  crowding  rapidly.     The  rustle  of  silk,  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


flash  of  pearls  and  diamonds,  the  hum  of  soft  drawling 
voices  filled  the  perfumed  air. 

Phil's  eyes  were  dazzled  with  the  bevies  of  the  younger 
set,  from  sixteen  to  eighteen,  dressed  in  soft  tulle  and  or- 
gandy ;  slow  of  speech ;  their  voices  low,  musical,  delicious. 
He  was  introduced  to  so  many  his  head  began  to  swim. 
To  save  his  soul  he  couldn't  pick  out  one  more  entrancing 
than  another.  The  moment  they  spied  his  West  Point 
uniform  he  was  fair  game.  They  made  eyes  at  him. 
They  languished  and  pretended  to  be  smitten  at  first 
sight.  Twice  he  caught  himself  about  to  believe  one  of 
them.  They  seemed  so  sincere,  so  dreadfully  in  earnest. 
And  then  he  caught  the  faintest  twinkle  in  the  corner  of 
a  dark  eye  and  blushed  to  think  himself  such  a  fool. 

But  the  sensation  of  being  lionized  was  delightful.  He 
was  in  a  whirl  of  foolish  joy  when  he  suddenly  realized 
that  Stuart  had  deserted  him,  slipped  through  the  crowd 
and  found  his  way  to  Mary  Lee.  He  threw  a  quick  glance 
at  the  pair  and  one  of  the  four  beauties  hovering  around 
him  began  to  whisper: 

"Jeb  Stuart's  just  crazy  about  Mary — " 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it !" 

"He  couldn't  stop  even  to  say  how-d'y-do." 

"And  she's  utterly  indifferent — " 

Sam's  voice  suddenly  rang  out  with  unusual  unction  anil 
deliberation.  He  was  imitating  Uncle  Ben's  most  eloquent 
methods. 

"Congress-man  and  Mrs.  Rog-er  A.  Pry-or!" 

Mrs.  Lee  hastened  to  greet  the  young  editor  who  had 
taken  high  rank  in  Congress  from  the  day  of  his  entrance. 

Mrs.  Pryor  was  evidently  as  proud  of  her  young  Con- 
gressman as  he  was  of  her  regal  beauty. 

Colonel  Lee  joined  the  group  and  led  the  lawmaker  into 
the  library  for  a  chat  on  politics. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


The  first  notes  of  a  violin  swept  the  crowd.  The  hum 
of  conversation  and  the  ripple  of  laughter  softened  into 
silence.  The  dusky  orchestra  is  in  place  on  the  little  plat- 
form. Sam,  in  all  his  glory,  rises  and  faces  the  eager 
youth. 

He  was  dressed  in  his  young  master's  last  year's  suit, 
immaculate  blue  broadcloth  and  brass  buttons,  ruffled  shirt 
and  black-braided  watch  guard  hanging  from  his  neck. 
His  eyes  sparkled  with  pride  and  his  rich,  sonorous  voice 
rang  over  the  crowd  like  the  deep  notes  of  a  flute : 

"Choose  yo'  pardners  fur  de  fust  cowtillun !" 

Again  the  quick  rustle  of  silk  and  tulle,  the  low  hum  of 
excited,  young  voices  and  the  couples  are  in  place. 

A  boy  cries  to  the  leader: 

"We're  all  ready,  Sam." 

The  young  caller  of  the  set  knew  his  business  better. 
He  lifted  his  hand  in  a  gesture  of  reverence  and  silence, 
as  he  glanced  toward  the  library  door. 

"Jes'  a  minute  la-dees,  an'  gem-mens,"  He  softly  drawled. 
"Marse  Robert  E.  Lee  and  Missis  will  lead  dis  set !" 

The  Colonel  briskly  entered  from  the  library  with  his 
wife  on  his  arm.  A  ripple  of  applause  swept  the  room  as 
they  took  their  places  with  the  gay  youngsters. 

Sam  lifted  his  hand ;  the  music  began — sweet  and  low, 
vibrating  with  the  sensuous  touch  of  the  negro  slave  whose 
soul  was  free  in  its  joyous  melody. 

At  the  first  note  of  his  triangle,  loud  above  the  music 
rang  Sam's  voice: 

"Honors  to  yo'  partners !" 

With  graceful  courtesies  and  stately,  bows  the  dance 
began.  And  over  all  a  glad  negro  called  the  numbers : 

"Forward  Fours !" 

The  caller's  eyes  rolled  and  his  body  swayed  with  the 
rhythm  of  the  dance  as  he  watched  each  set  with  growing 


6 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

pride.  They  danced  a  quadrille,  a  mazurka,  another 
quadrille,  a  schottische,  the  lancers,  another  quadrille,  and 
another  and  another.  They  paused  for  supper  at  mid- 
night and  then  danced  them  over  again. 
;  While  the  fine  young  forms  swayed  to  exquisite  rhythm 
and  the  music  floated  over  all,  the  earnest  young  Con- 
gressman bent  close  to  his  host  in  a  corner  of  the  library. 

"I  sincerely  hope,  Colonel  Lee,  that  you  can  see  your 
way  clear  to  make  a  reply  to  this  book  of  Mrs.  Stowe 
which  Ruffin  has  sent  you." 

"I  can't  see  it  yet,  Mr.  Pryor — " 

"Ruffin  is  a  terrible  old  fire-eater,  I  know,"  the  Con- 
gressman admitted.  "But  Uncle  Tom's  Cabm  is  the  most 
serious  blow  the  South  has  received  from  the  Abolitionists. 
And  what  makes  it  so  difficult  is  that  its  appeal  is  not  to 
reason.  It  is  to  sentiment.  To  the  elemental  emotions  of 
the  mob.  No  matter  whether  its  picture  is  true  or  false, 
the  result  will  be  the  same  unless  the  minds  who  read  it 
can  be  cured  of  its  poison.  It  has  become  a  sensation. 
Every  Northern  Congressman  has  read  it.  A  half  million 
copies  have  been  printed  and  the  presses  can't  keep  up 
with  the  demands.  This  book  is  storing  powder  in  the 
souls  of  the  masses  who  don't  know  how  to  think,  because 
they've  never  been  trained  to  think.  This  explosive  emo- 
tion is  the  preparation  for  fanaticism.  We  only  wait  the 
coming  of  the  fanatic — the  madman  who  may  lift  a  torch 
and  hurl  it  into  this  magazine.  The  South  is  asleep. 
And  when  we  don't  sleep,  we  dance.  There's  no  use  fool- 
ing ourselves.  We're  dancing  on  the  crust  of  a  volcano." 

Pryor  rose. 

"I've  a  number  with  Mrs.  Pryor.  I  wish  you'd  think 
it  over,  Colonel.  This  message  is  my  big  reason  for  miss- 
ing a  night  session  to  be  here.** 

Lee  nodded  and  strolled  out  on  the  lawn  before  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


white  pillars  of  the  portico  to  consider  the  annoying  re- 
quest. He  hated  controversy. 

Yet  he  was  not  the  type  of  man  to  run  from  danger. 
The  breed  of  men  from  which  he  sprang  had  always  faced 
the  enemy  when  the  challenge  came.  In  the  carriage  of 
his  body  there  was  a  quiet  pride — a  feeling  not  of  vanity, 
but  of  instinctive  power.  It  was  born  in  him  through 
generations  of  men  who  had  done  the  creative  thinking  of 
a  nation  in  the  building.  His  face  might  have  been  de- 
scribed as  a  little  too  regular — a  little  too  handsome  per- 
haps for  true  greatness,  but  for  the  look  of  deep  thought 
in  his  piercing  eyes.  And  the  finely  chiseled  lines  of  char- 
acter, positive,  clean-cut,  vigorous.  He  had  backbone. 

And  yet  he  was  not  a  bitter  partisan.  He  used  his 
brain.  He  reasoned.  He  looked  at  the  world  through 
kindly,  conservative  eyes.  He  feared  God,  only.  He  be- 
lieved in  his  wife,  his  children,  his  blood.  And  he  loved 
Virginia,  counting  it  the  highest  honor  to  be — not  seem 
to  be — an  old-fashioned  Virginia  gentleman. 

He  believed  in  democracy  guided  by  true  leaders.  This 
reservation  was  not  a  compromise.  It  was  a  cardinal 
principle.  He  could  conceive  of  no  democracy  worth 
creating  or  preserving  which  did  not  produce  the  super- 
man to  lead,  shape,  inspire  and  direct  its  life.  The  man 
called  of  God  to  this  work  was  fulfilling  a  divine  mission. 
He  must  be  of  the  very  necessity  of  his  calling  a  noble- 
man. 

Without  vanity  he  lived  daily  in  the  consciousness  of  his 
own  call  to  this  exalted  ideal.  It  made  his  face,  in  re- 
pose, grave.  His  gravity  came  from  the  sense  of  duty 
and  the  consciousness  of  problems  to  be  met  and  solved 
as  his  fathers  before  him  had  met  and  solved  great  issues. 

His  conservatism  had  its  roots  in  historic  achievements 
and  the  chill  that  crept  into  his  heart  as  he  thought  of  this 


8 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

book  came,  not  from  the  fear  of  the  possible  clash  of 
forces  in  the  future,  but  from  the  dread  of  changes  which 
might  mean  the  loss  of  priceless  things  in  a  nation's  life. 
He  believed  in  every  fiber  of  his  being  that,  in  spite  of 
slavery,  the  old  South  in  her  ideals,  her  love  of  home,  her 
worship  of  God,  her  patriotism,  her  joy  of  living  and  her 
passion  for  beauty  stood  for  things  that  are  eternal. 

And  great  changes  were  sweeping  over  the  Republic. 
He  felt  this  to-day  as  never  before.  The  Washington  on 
whose  lights  he  stood  gazing  was  rapidly  approaching  the 
end  of  the  era  in  which  the  Nation  had  evolved  a  soul. 
His  people  had  breathed  that  soul  into  the  Republic.  To 
this  hour  the  mob  had  never  ruled  America.  Its  spirit 
had  never  dominated  a  crisis.  The  nation  had  been  shaped 
from  its  birth  through  the  heart  and  brain  of  its  leaders. 

But  he  recalled  with  a  pang  that  the  race  of  Supermen 
was  passing.  Calhoun  had  died  two  years  ago.  Henry 
Clay  had  died  within  the  past  two  months.  Daniel  Web- 
ster lay  on  his  death  bed  at  Mansfield.  And  there  were 
none  in  sight  to  take  their  places.  We  had  begun  the 
process  of  leveling.  We  had  begun  to  degrade  power,  to 
scatter  talent,  to  pull  down  our  leaders  to  the  level  of 
the  mob,  in  the  name  of  democracy. 

He  faced  this  fact  with  grave  misgivings.  He  believed 
that  the  first  requirement  of  human  society,  if  it  shall  live, 
is  the  discovery  of  men  fit  to  command — to  lead. 

With  the  passing  of  Clay,  Calhoun  and  Webster  the 
Washington  on  which  he  gazed,  the  Washington  of  1852, 
had  ceased  to  be  a  forum  of  great  thought,  of  high  think- 
ing and  simple  living.  It  had  become  the  scene  of  luxury 
and  extravagance.  The  two  important  establishments  of 
the  city  were  Gautier's,  the  restaurateur  and  caterer — 
the  French  genius  who  prepared  the  feasts  for  jeweled 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


youth;  and  Gait,  the  jeweler  who  sold  the  precious  stones 
to  adorn  the  visions  of  beauty  at  these  banquets. 

The  two  political  parties  had  fallen  to  the  lowest  depths 
of  groveling  to  vote  getting  by  nominating  the  smallest 
men  ever  named  for  Presidential  honors.  The  Democrats 
had  passed  all  their  real  leaders  and  named  as  standard- 
bearer  an  obscure  little  politician  of  New  Hampshire,  Mr. 
Franklin  Pierce.  His  sole  recommendation  for  the  exalted 
office  was  that  he  would  carry  one  or  two  doubtful  North- 
ern states  anil  with  the  solid  South  could  thus  Be  elected. 
The  Whig  convention  in  Baltimore  had  cast  but  thirty- 
two  votes  for  Daniel  Webster  and  had  nominated  a  mili- 
tary figurehead,  General  Winfield  Scott. 

The  Nation  was  without  a  leader.  And  the  low  rumble 
of  the  crowd — the  growl  of  the  primal  beast — could  be 
heard  in  the  distance  with  increasing  distinctness. 

The  watcher  turned  from  the  White  City  across  the 
Potomac  and  slowly  walked  into  his  rose  garden.  Even 
in  September  the  riot  of  color  was  beyond  description. 
In  the  splendor  of  the  full  Southern  moon  could  be  seen 
all  shades  from  deep  blood  red  to  pale  pink.  All  sizes  from 
the  tiniest  four-leaf  wild  flowers  to  the  gorgeous  white 
and  yellow  masses  that  reared  their  forms  like  waves  of 
the  surf.  He  breathed  the  perfume  and  smiled  again.  A 
mocking  bird,  dropping  from  the  bough  of  a  holly,  was. 
singing  the  glory  of  a  second  blooming. 

The  scene  of  entrancing  beauty  drove  the  thought  of 
strife  from  his  heart.  He  turned  back  toward  the  house 
and  its  joys  of  youth. 

Sam's  sonorous  voice  was  ringing  in  deliberation  the 
grand  call  of  the  evening's  festivities: 

"Choose-yo-pardners-fer-de-ol-Virginy-Reel!" 

And  then  the  stir,  the  rush,  the  commotion  for  place  in 
the  final  dance.  The  reel  reaches  the  whole  length  of  the 


10 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

hall  with  every  foot  of  space  crowded.  There  are  thirty 
couples  in  line  when  the  musicians  pause,  tune  their  in- 
struments and  with  a  sudden  burst  play  "The  Gray 
Eagle."  The  Virginia  Reel  stirs  the  blood  of  these  South- 
ern boys  and  girls.  Its  swift,  graceful  action  and  the 
inspiration  of  the  old  music  seem  part  of  the  heart  beat  of 
the  youth  and  beauty  that  sway  to  its  cadences. 

The  master  of  Arlington  smiled  at  the  memory  of  the 
young  Congressman's  eloquence.  Surely  it  was  only  a 
flight  of  rhetoric. 


CHAPTER  II 

PHIL  had  finally  reached  the  boys'  room  after  the 
dance,  his  head  in  a  whirl  of  excitement.  Sleep  was 
the  last  thing  he  wished.  His  imagination  was  on 
fire.  He  had  heard  of  Southern  hospitality.  He  had 
never  dreamed  of  such  waste  of  good  things,  such  joy  in 
living,  such  genuine  pleasure  in  the  meeting  of  friends  and 
kinfolks.  Custis  had  insisted  on  every  boy  staying  all 
night.  A  lot  of  them  had  stayed.  The  wide  rooms  bulged 
with  them.  There  were  cots  and  pallets  everywhere.  He 
had  seen  the  housemaids  and  the  menservants  carrying 
them  in  after  the  dance.  Their  own  room  contained  four 
beds  and  as  many  pallets,  and  they  were  all  full. 

He  tried  to  sleep  and  couldn't.  He  dozed  an  hour, 
waked  at  dawn  and  began  day-dreaming.  There  was  no 
sense  of  weariness.  His  mind  was  too  alert.  The  great 
house,  in  which  he  was  made  to  feel  as  much  at  home  as 
in  the  quiet  cottage  of  his  mother  in  Ohio,  fascinated  him 
with  its  endless  menservants,  housemaids,  serving  boys, 
cooks,  coachmen  and  hostlers. 

He  thought  of  the  contrast  with  the  quiet  efficiency  and 
simplicity  of  his  mother's  house.  He  could  see  her  seated 
at  the  little  table  in  the  center  of  the  room,  a  snow-white 
cap  on  her  head.  The  work  of  the  house  had  been  done 
without  a  servant.  It  had  been  done  so  simply  and  quietly, 
he  had  never  been  conscious  of  the  fact  that  it  was  work 

11 


12  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

at  all.  It  had  seemed  a  ministry  of  love  for  her  children. 
Their  help  had  been  given  with  equal  joy,  unconscious  of 
toil,  her  kitchen  floor  was  always  spotless,  with  every  pot 
and  pan  and  shining  dish  in  its  place  as  if  by  magic. 

He  wondered  how  Custis'  mother  could  bear  the  strain 
of  all  these  people.  He  wondered  how  she  could  manage 
the  army  of  black  servants  who  hung  on  her  word  as  the 
deliverance  of  an  oracle.  He  could  hear  the  hum  of  the 
life  of  the  place  already  awake  with  the  rising  sun.  Down 
in  the  ravine  behind  the  house  he  caught  the  ring  of  a 
hammer  on  an  anvil  and  closer  in  the  sweep  of  a  carpen- 
ter's plane  over  a  board.  A  colt  was  calling  to  his  mother 
at  the  stables  and  he  could  hear  the  chatter  and  cries  of 
the  stable  boys  busy  with  the  morning  feed. 

He  rose,  stepped  gingerly  beside  the  sleepers  on  the 
floor  and  stood  by  an  open  window.  His  mind  was  stirring 
with  a  curious  desire  to  see  the  ghost  that  haunted  this 
house,  its  spacious  grounds  and  fields.  He,  too,  had  read 
'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  and  wondered.  The  ghost  must  be 
here  hiding  in  some  dark  corner  of  cabin  or  field — the 
ghost  of  deathless  longing  for  freedom — the  ghost  of 
cruelty — the  ghost  of  the  bloodhound,  the  lash  and  the 
auction  block. 

Somehow  he  couldn't  realize  thaf  sucE  things  could  be, 
now  that  he  was  a  guest  in  a  Southern  home  and  saw  the 
bright  side  of  their  life.  Never  had  he  seen  anything 
brighter  than  the  smiles  of  those  negro  musicians  as  they 
proudly  touched  their  instruments:  the  violin,  the  banjo, 
the  flute,  the  triangle  and  castinets,  and  watched  the  danc- 
ers swing  through  each  number.  There  could  be  no  mis- 
take about  the  ring  of  joy  in  Sam's  voice.  It  throbbed 
with  unction.  It  pulsed  with  pride.  Its  joy  was  con- 
tagious. He  caught  himself  glancing  at  his  rolling  eyes 
and  swaying  body.  Once  he  muttered  aloud : 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  13 

"Just  look  at  that  fool  nigger!" 

But  somewhere  in  this  paradise  of  flowers  and  song 
birds,  of  music  and  dance,  of  rustling  silk,  of  youth  and 
beauty,  the  Ghost  of  Slavery  crouched. 

In  a  quiet  way  he  would  watch  for  it  to  walk.  He  had 
to  summon  all  his  pride  of  Section  and  training  in  the 
catch  words  of  the  North  to  keep  from  falling  under  the 
charm  of  the  beautiful  life  he  felt  enfolding  him. 

He  no  longer  wondered  why  every  Northern  man  who 
moved  South  forgot  the  philosophy  of  the  Snows  and  be- 
came a  child  of  the  Sun.  He  felt  the  subtle  charm  of  it 
stealing  into  his  heart  and  threw  off  the  spell  with  an 
effort. 

A  sparrow  chirped  under  the  window.  A  redbird 
flashed  from  a  rosebush  and  a  mocking  bird  from  a  huge 
magnolia  began  to  softly  sing  his  morning  love  song  to 
his  mate. 

He  heard  a  yawn,  turned  and  saw  Custis  rubbing  his 
eyes. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Phil,  why  don't  you  sleep  ?" 

"Tried  and  can't." 

"Don't  like  your  bed?" 

"Too  much  excited." 

"One  of  those  girls  hooked  you?" 

"No.  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind.  So  many  beauties 
they  rattled  me." 

"All  right,"  Custis  said  briskly.  "Let's  get  up  and 
look  around  the  old  plantation." 

"Good,"  Phil  cried. 

Custis  called  Jeb  Stuart  in  vain.  He  refused  to  answer 
or  to  budge. 

Phil  found  his  shoes  at  the  door  neatly  blacked  and 
the  moment  he  began  to  stir  a  grinning  black  boy  was  at 
his  heels  to  take  his  slightest  order. 


14 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"I  don't  want  trw^thing!"  he  said  at  last  to  his  dusky 
tormentor. 

"Nuttin  tall,  sah?" 

"Nuttin  tall !" 

Phil  smiled  at  the  eager,  rolling  eyes. 

"Get  out — you  make  me  laugh — " 

The  boy  ducked. 

"Yassah — des  call  me  if  ye  wants  me — Fse  right  out- 
side de  do'." 

The  two  cadets  ate  breakfast  alone.  The  house  was  yet 
asleep — except  the  children.  Their  voices  could  be  heard 
on  the  lawn  at  play.  They  had  been  put  to  bed  early, 
at  eleven  o'clock.  They  were  up  with  the  birds  as  usual. 

The  sun  was  an  hour  high,  shining  the  glory  of  a  per- 
fect September  morning.  The  boys  strolled  on  the  lawn. 
The  children  were  everywhere,  playing  in  groups.  Little 
black  and  white  boys  mixed  indiscriminately.  Robbie  Lee 
was  playing  rooster  fight  with  Sid,  his  boon  companion. 
The  little  black  boy  born  nearest  his  birthday  was  dedi- 
cated to  be  his  friend,  companion  and  body  servant  for 
life. 

Phil  paused  to  see  the  rooster  fight. 

The  boys  folded  their  arms  and  flew  at  each  other  side- 
ways, using  their  elbows  as  a  rooster  uses  his  spurs. 

Robbie  was  pressing  Sid  against  the  fence  of  the  rose 
garden.  Sid's  return  blows  lacked  strength. 

Robbie  stamped  his  foot  angrily. 

"Come  on  now — no  foolin' — fight !  There's  no  fun  in  a 
fight,  if  you  don't  fight!" 

Sid  bucked  up  and  flew  at  his  enemy. 

Robbie  saw  the  two  older  boys  watching  and  gave  a 
star  performance.  As  Sid  lunged  at  him  with  uplifted 
arms,  and  drew  back  to  strike  a  stunning  blow,  Robbie 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 15 

suddenly  stooped,  hurled  his  elbow  under  Sid's  arm,  lifted 
him  clear  of  the  ground  and  he  fell  sprawling. 

Robbie  stood  in  triumph  over  the  prostrate  figure. 

Phil  laughed. 

"You  got  him  that  time,  Robbie !" 

Robbie  squared  himself,  raised  his  spurs  and  waited  for 
Sid  to  rise. 

Sid  was  in  no  hurry.  He  had  enough.  He  hadn't  cried. 
But  he  was  close  to  it. 

"Ye  needn't  put  up  dem  spurs  at  me  no  mo'." 

"Come  on  again!"  Robbie  challenged. 

"Na,  sah.  I'se  done  dead.  Ye  stick  dat  spur  clean 
froo  me.  Hit  mighty  nigh  come  out  on  de  odder  side!" 

"Got  enough?" 

The  game  was  suddenly  ended  by  a  barefoot  white  boy 
approaching  Robbie.  Johnny  Doyle  carried  a  dozen  teal 
clucks,  six  in  each  hand.  They  were  so  heavy  for  his 
hands  that  their  heads  dragged  the  ground. 

Robbie  rushed  to  meet  his  friend. 

"Oh,  John,  where'd  you  get  the  ducks  ?" 

"Me  and  daddy  killed  'em  this  mornin'  at  sun-up  on 
the  river." 

"Why,  the  duck  season  isn't  on  yet,  is  it  ?"  Custis  asked 
the  boy. 

"No,  sir,  but  daddy  saw  a  big  raft  of  teal  swingin'  into 
the  bend  of  the  river  yesterday  and  we  got  up  before  day- 
light and  got  a  mess." 

"You  brought  'em  to  me,  John?"  Robbie  asked  eagerly. 

"Jes  the  same,  Robbie.     Dad  sent  'em  to  Colonel  Lee." 

"That's  fine  of  your  daddy,  John,"  Custis  said,  placing 
his  hand  on  the  little  bare  sunburnt  head. 

"Yessir,  my  daddy  says  Colonel  Lee's  the  greatest  man 
in  this  county  and  he's  mighty  proud  to  be  his  neighbor." 


16 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Tell  him  my  father  will  thank  him  personally  before 
we  leave  and  say  for  all  that  he  has  given  us  a  treat." 

Custis  handed  the  ducks  to  Sid. 

"Take  them  to  the  kitchen  and  tell  Aunt  Hannah  to 
have  them  for  dinner,  sure." 

Sid  started  for  the  kitchen  and  Robbie  called  after 
him: 

"Hurry  back,  Sid—" 

"Yassah — right  away,  sah!'* 

Robbie  seized  John's  hand. 

"You'll  stay  all  day?" 

"I  can't." 

"We're  goin'  fishin'— " 

"Honest?" 

"Sure.  Uncle  Ben's  sick.  But  after  dinner  he's  prom- 
ised to  take  us.  He's  not  too  sick  to  fish." 

"I  can't  stay,"  the  barefoot  boy  sighed. 

"Come  on.  There's  three  bird's  nests  in  the  orchard. 
The  second  layin'.  It  ain't  no  harm  to  break  up  the  sec- 
ond nest.  Birds  Ve  no  business  layin*  twice  in  one  season. 
We  ought  to  break  'em  up.5* 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't." 

His  tone  grew  weaker  and  Robbie  pressed  him. 

"Come  on.  We'll  get  the  bird's  eggs  and  chase  the 
calves  and  colts  till  the  dinner  bell  rings,  ride  the  horses 
home  from  the  fields,  and  go  fishin'  after  dinner  and  stay 
till  dark." 

«No— » 

"Come  on!" 

John  glanced  up  the  road  £owar3  the  big  gate  beyond 
which  his  mother  was  waiting  his  return.  The  temptation 
was  more  than  his  boy's  soul  could  resist.  He  shook  his 
head — paused — and  grinned. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 17 

"Come  on,  Sid,  John's  goin'  with  us,"  Robbie  called  to 
his  young  henchman  as  he  approached. 

"All  right,"  John  consented,  finally  throwing  every 
scruple  to  the  winds.  "Ma'll  whip  me  shore,  but,  by 
granny,  it'll  be  worth  it !" 

The  aristocrat  slipped  his  arm  around  his  chum  and 
led  him  to  the  orchard  in  triumph. 

Custis  laughed. 

"He'd  rather  play  with  that  little,  poor  white  rascal 
than  any  boy  in  the  country." 

"Don't  blame  him,"  Phil  replied.  "He  may  be  dirty 
and  ragged  but  he's  a  real  boy  after  a  real  boy's  heart. 
And  the  handsomest  little  beggar  I  ever  saw — who  is  he  ?" 

"The  boy  of  a  poor  white  family,  the  Doyles.  They 
live  just  outside  our  gate  on  a  ten-acre  farm.  His 
mother's  trying  to  make  him  go'  to  school.  His  father 
laughs  and  lets  him  go  hunting  and  fishing." 

They  were  strolling  past  the  first  neat  row  of  houses  in 
the  servants'  quarters.  Phil  thought  of  them  as  the  slave 
quarters.  Yet  he  had  not  heard  the  word  slave  spoken 
since  his  arrival.  These  black  people  were  "servants" 
and  some  of  them  were  the  friends  and  confidants  of  their 
master  and  his  household.  Phil  paused  in  front  of  a 
cottage.  The  yard  flamed  with  autumn  flowers.  Through 
the  open  door  and  windows  came  the  hum  of  spinning 
wheels  and  the  low,  sweet  singing  of  the  dark  spinners, 
spinning  wool  for  the  winter  clothing  of  the  estate.  From 
the  next  door  came  the  click  and  crash  of  the  looms  weav- 
ing the  warm  cloth. 

"You  make  your  own  cloth?"  the  Westerner  asked  in 
surprise. 

"Of  course,  for  the  servants.  It  takes  six  spinners  and 
three  weavers  working  steadily  all  year  to  keep  up  with 
it,  too." 


18 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Isn't  it  expensive?" 

"Maybe.  We  never  thought  of  it.  We  just  make  it. 
Always  have  in  our  family  for  a  hundred  years." 

They  passed  the  blacksmith's  shop  and  saw  him  shoe- 
ing a  blooded  colt.  Phil  touched  the  horse's  nostrils  with 
a  gentle  hand  and  the  colt  nudged  him. 

"It's  funny  how  a  horse  knows  a  horseman  instinctively 
—isn't  it,  Phil?" 

"Yes.     He  knows  I'm  going  to  join  the  cavalry." 

They  moved  down  the  long  row  of  whitewashed  cot- 
tages, each  with  its  yard  of  flowers  and  each  with  a  huge 
pile  of  wood  in  the  rear — wood  enough  to  keep  a  spark- 
ling fire  through  the  winter.  Chubby-faced  babies  were 
playing  in  the  sanded  walks  and  smiling  young  mothers 
watched  them  from  the  doors. 

Phil  started  to  put  a  question,  stammered  and  was  si- 
lent. 

"What  is  it?"  Custis  asked. 

"You'll  pardon  my  asking  it,  old  boy,  but  are  these 
black  folks  married?" 

The  Southern  boy  laughed  heartily. 

"I  should  say  so.  A  negro  wedding  is  one  of  the  joys 
of  a  plantation  boy's  life." 

"But  isn't  it  awful  when  they're  separated  ?" 

"They're  not  separated." 

"Never?" 

"Not  on  this  plantation.  Nor  on  any  estate  whose 
master  and  mistress  are  our  friends.  It's  not  done  in  our 
set." 

"You  keep  them  when  they're  old,  lazy  an3  worthless  ?" 

"If  they're  married,  yes.  It's  a  luxury  we  never  deny 
ourselves,  this  softening  of  the  rigor  of  the  slave  regime. 
It's  not  business.  But  it's  the  custom  of  the  country.  To 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 19 

separate  a  husband  and  wife  is  an  unheard-of  thing  among 
our  people." 

The  thing  that  impressed  the  Westerner  in  those  white 
rows  of  little  homes  was  the  order  and  quiet  of  it  all. 
Every  yard  was  swept  clean.  There  was  nowhere  a  trace 
of  filth  or  disease-breeding  refuse.  And  birds  were  sing- 
ing in  the  bushes  beside  these  slave  cottages  as  sweetly  as 
they  sang  for  the  master  and  mistress  in  the  pillared  man- 
sion on  the  hill.  They  passed  the  stables  and  paused  to 
watch  a  dozen  colts  playing  in  the  inclosure.  Beyond  the 
stable  under  the  shadows  of  great  oaks  was  the  dog  kennel. 
A  pack  of  fox  hounds  rushed  to  the  gate  with  loud  wel- 
come to  their  young  master.  He  stooped  to  stroke  each 
head  and  call  each  dog's  name.  A  wagging  tail  responded 
briskly  to  every  greeting.  In  another  division  of  the 
kennel  romped  a  dozen  bird-dogs,  pointers  and  setters. 
The  puppies  were  nearly  grown  and  eager  for  the  fields. 
They  climbed  over  Custis  in  yelping  puppy  joy  that  re- 
fused all  rebuffs. 

Phil  looked  in  vain  for  the  bloodhounds.  He  was  afraid 
to  ask  about  them  lest  he  offend  his  host.  Custis  had 
never  seen  a  bloodhound  and  could  not  guess  the  question 
back  of  his  schoolmate's  silence. 

Sam  entered  the  inclosure  with  breakfast  for  the  dogs. 

Phil  couldn't  keep  his  eyes  off  the  sunlit,  ebony  face. 
His  smile  was  contagious.  His  voice  was  music. 

The  Westerner  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to  draw 
him  out. 

"You  were  certainly  dressed  up  last  night,  Sam !" 

"Yer  lak  dat  suit  I  had  on,  sah  ?" 

"It  was  a  great  combination." 

"Yassah,  dat's  me,  sah,"  the  negro  laughed.  "I'se  a 
great  combination — yassah !" 

He  paused  and  threw  his  head  back  as  if  to  recall  the 


20 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

words.     Then  in  a  voice  rich  and  vibrant  with  care-free 
joy  he  burst  into  song: 
"Yassah!" 

"When  I  goes  out  ter  promenade 
I  dress  so  fine  and  gay 
I'm  bleeged  to  take  my  dog  along 
Ter  keep  de  gals  away." 

Again  his  laughter  rang  in  peals  of  sonorous  fun.  They 
joined  in  his  laugh. 

A  stable  boy  climbed  the  fence  and  called : 

"Don't  ye  want  yer  hosses,  Marse  Custis?"  He  was 
jealous  of  Sam's  popularity. 

Custis  glanced  at  Phil. 

"Sure.     Let's  ride." 

"All  right,  Ned— saddle  them." 

The  boy  leaped  to  the  ground  and  in  five  minutes  led 
two  horses  to  the  gate.  As  they  galloped  past  the  house 
for  the  long  stretch  of  white  roadway  that  led  across  the 
river  to  the  city,  Phil  smiled  as  he  saw  Jeb  Stuart  emerge 
from  the  rose  garden  with  Mary  Lee.  Custis  ignored  the 
unimportant  incident. 


CHAPTER  III 

STUART  led  Mary  to  a  seat  beneath  an  oak,  brushed 
the  dust  away  with  his  cap  and  asked  her  to  honor 
him.     He  bowed  low  over  her  hand  and  dared  to 
kiss  it. 

She  passed  the  gallant  act  as  a  matter  of  course  and 
sat  down  beside  him  with  quiet  humor.  She  knew  the 
symptoms.  A  born  flirt,  as  every  true  Southern  girl  has 
always  been,  she  eyed  his  embarrassment  with  surprise. 
She  knew  that  he  was  going  to  speak  under  the  resistless 
impulse  of  youth  and  romance,  and  that  no  hearts  would 
be  broken  on  either  side  no  matter  what  the  outcome. 

She  watched  him  indulgently.  She  had  to  like  him. 
He  was  the  kind  of  boy  a  girl  couldn't  help  liking.  He 
was  vital,  magnetic  and  exceptionally  good  looking.  He 
sang  and  danced  and  flirted,  but  beneath  the  fun  and 
foolishness  slumbered  a  fine  spirit,  tender,  reverent,  deeply 
religious.  It  was  this  undercurrent  of  strength  that  drew 
the  girl.  He  was  always  humming  a  song,  his  heart  bub- 
bling over  with  joy.  He  had  never  uttered  an  oath  or 
touched  a  drop  of  liquor  amid  all  the  gaiety  of  the  times 
in  which  he  lived. 

"Miss  Mary,"  he  began  slowly. 

"Now  Jeb,"  she  interrupted.  "You  don't  have  to,  you 
know — " 

21 


22 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Stuart  threw  his  head  back,  laughed,  and  sang  a  stanza 
from  "Annie  Laurie"  in  a  low,  tender  voice.  He  paused 
and  faced  his  fair  tormentor. 

"Miss  Mary,  I've  got  to !" 

"You  don't  have  to  make  love  to  me  just  because  you're 
my  brother's  classmate — " 

"You  know  I'm  not !"  he  protested. 

"You're  about  to  begin." 

"But  not  for  that  reason,  Miss  Mary — " 

He  held  her  gaze  so  seriously  that  she  blushed  before 
she  could  recover  her  poise.  He  saw  his  advantage  and 
pressed  it. 

"I'm  telling  you  that  I  love  you  because  you're  the  most 
adorable  girl  I've  ever  known." 

His  boyish,  conventional  words  broke  the  spell. 

"I  appreciate  the  tribute  which  you  so  gallantly  pay 
me,  Sir  Knight.  But  I  happen  to  know  that  the  moon- 
light, the  music  of  a  dance,  the  song  of  birds  this  morning 
and  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  move  you,  as  they  should. 
You're  young.  You're  too  good  looking.  You're  fine  and 
unspoiled  and  I  like  you,  Jeb.  But  you  don't  know  yet 
what  love  means." 

"I  do,  Miss  Mary,  I  do." 

"You  don't  and  neither  do  I.  You're  in  love  with  love. 
And  so  am  I.  It's  the  morning  of  life  and  why  shouldn't 
we  be  like  this?" 

"There's  no  hope?"  he  asked  dolefully. 

"Of  course,  there's  hope.  There's  something  fine  in 
you,  and  you'll  find  yourself  in  the  world  when  you  ride 
forth  to  play  your  part.  And  I'll  follow  you  with  tender 
pride." 

"But  not  with  love,"  he  sighed. 

"Maybe — who  knows?"  she  smiled. 

"Is  that  all  the  hope  you  can  give  me?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 23 

"Isn't  it  enough?" 

He  gazed  into  her  serious  eyes  a  moment  and  laughed 
with  boyish  enthusiasm. 

"Yes,  it  is,  Miss  Mary !  You're  glorious.  You're  won- 
derful. You  make  me  ashamed  of  my  foolishness.  You 
inspire  me  to  do  things.  And  I'm  going  to  do  them  for 
your  sake." 

"For  your  own  sake,  because  God  has  put  the  spark 
in  your  soul.  Your  declaration  of  love  has  made  me  very 
happy.  We're  too  young  yet  to  take  it  seriously.  We 
must  both  live  our  life  in  its  morning  before  we  settle  down 
to  the  final  things.  They'll  come  too  soon." 

"I'm  going  to  love  you  always,  Miss  Mary,"  he  pro- 
tested. 

"I  want  you  to.  But  you'll  probably  marry  another 
girl." 

"Never!" 

"And  I  know  you'll  be  her  loyal  knight,  her  devoted 
slave.  It's  a  way  our  Southern  boys  have.  And  it's 
beautiful." 

Stuart  studied  the  finely  chiseled  face  with  a  new  rever- 
ence. 

"Miss  Mary,  you've  let  me  down  so  gently.  I  don't 
feel  hurt  at  all." 

A  sweet  silence  fell  between  them.  A  breeze  blew  the 
ringlets  of  the  girl's  hair  across  the  pink  of  her  cheek. 
A  breeze  from  the  garden  laden  with  the  mingled  perfume 
of  roses.  A  flock  of  wild  ducks  swung  across  the  lawn 
high  in  the  clear  sky  and  dipped  toward  the  river.  Across 
the  fields  came  a  song  of  slaves  at  work  in  the  cornfield, 
harvesting  the  first  crop  of  peas  planted  between  the 
rows. 

Stuart  caught  her  hand,  pressed  it  tenderly  and  kissed 
it. 


24  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"You're  an  angel,  Miss  Mary.  And  I'm  going  to  wor- 
ship you,  if  you  won't  let  me  love  you." 

The  girl  returned  his  earnest  look  with  a  smile  and 
slowly  answered: 

"All  right,  Beauty  Stuart,  we'll  see—" 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  dinner  at  night  was  informal.  Colonel  Lee  had 
invited  three  personal  friends  from  Washington. 
He  hoped  in  the  touch  of  the  minds  of  these 
leaders  to  find  some  relief  from  the  uneasiness  with  which 
the  reading  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  book  had  shadowed  his  imagi- 
nation. 

The  man  about  whom  he  was  curious  was  Stephen  A. 
Douglas  of  Illinois,  the  most  brilliant  figure  in  the  Senate. 
In  the  best  sense  he  represented  the  national  ideal.  A 
Northern  man,  he  had  always  viewed  the  opinions  and 
principles  of  the  South  with  broad  sympathy. 

The  new  Senator  from  Georgia,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
made  a  sensation  in  the  house  as  the  radical  leader  of  the 
South.  Lee  wondered  if  he  were  as  dangerous  a  man  as 
the  conservative  members  of  the  Whig  party  thought. 
Toombs  had  voted  the  Whig  ticket,  but  his  speeches  on 
the  rights  of  the  South  on  the  Slavery  issues  had  set  him 
in  a  class  by  himself. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pry  or  had  spent  the  night  of  the  dance 
at  Arlington  and  had  consented  to  stay  for  dinner. 

Douglas  had  captured  the  young  Virginia  congress- 
man. And  Mrs.  Douglas  had  become  an  intimate  friend 
of  Mrs.  Pryor. 

When  Douglas  entered  the  library  and  pressed  Lee's 
hand,  the  master  of  Arlington  studied  him  with  keen  in- 

25 


26 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

terest.  He  was  easily  the  most  impressive  figure  in  Ameri- 
can politics.  The  death  of  Calhoun  and  Clay  and  the 
sudden  passing  of  Webster  had  left  but  one  giant  on  the 
floor  of  the  Senate.  They  called  him  the  "Little  Giant." 
He  was  still  a  giant.  He  had  sensed  the  approaching 
storm  of  crowd  madness  and  had  sought  the  age-old 
method  of  compromise  as  the  safety  valve  of  the  nation. 

He  had  not  read  history  in  vain*  He  knew  that  aH 
statesmanship  is  the  record  of  compromise — that  com- 
promise is  another  name  for  reason.  The  Declaration  of 
Independence  was  a  compromise  between  the  radicalism 
of  Thomas  Jefferson  and  the  conservatism  of  the  colonies. 
In  the  original  draft  of  the  Declaration,  Jefferson  had 
written  a  paragraph  arraigning  slavery  which  had  been 
omitted  : 

"He  (the  King  of  Great  Britain)  has  waged  cruel  war 
against  human  nature  itself,  violating  its  most  sacred 
rights  of  life  and  liberty  in  the  persons  of  a  distant  peo- 
ple who  never  offended  him ;  capturing  and  carrying  them 
into  slavery  in  another  hemisphere,  or  to  incur  miserable 
(death  in  their  transportation  thither.  This  piratical  war- 
fare, the  opprobrium  of  infidel  powers,  is  the  warfare  of 
the  Christian  King  of  Great  Britain.  Determined  to  keep 
open  a  market  where  men  should  be  bought  and  sold,  he 
prostituted  his  negative  for  suppressing  every  legislative 
attempt  to  prohibit  or  restrain  this  execrable  commerce. 
And  that  this  assemblage  of  horrors  might  want  no  fact 
of  distinguished  dye,  he  is  now  exciting  these  very  people 
to  rise  in  arms  among  us,  and  to  purchase  that  liberty  of 
which  he  has  deprived  them,  by  murdering  the  people  on 
whom  he  also  obtruded  them;  thus  paying  off  former 
crimes  committed  against  the  liberties  of  one  people  with 
crimes  which  he  urges  them  to  commit  against  the  lives  of 
another." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 27 

This  indictment  of  Slavery  and  the  Slave  trade  was 
stricken  from  the  Declaration  of  Independence  in  defer- 
ence to  the  opposition  of  both  Northern  and  Southern 
slave  owners  who  held  that  the  struggling  young  colonies 
must  have  labor  at  all  hazards. 

Lee  knew  that  the  Constitution  also  was  a  compromise 
of  conflicting  interests.  But  for  the  spirit  of  compromise 
— of  reason — this  instrument  of  human  progress  could 
never  have  been  created.  The  word  "Slave"  or  "Slavery" 
does  not  occur  within  it,  and  yet  three  of  its  most  im- 
portant provisions  established  the  institution  of  chattel 
slavery  as  the  basis  of  industrial  life.  The  statesmen  who 
wrote  the  Constitution  did  not  wish  these  clauses  embodied 
in  it.  Yet  the  Union  could  not  have  been  established  with- 
out them.  Our  leaders  reasoned,  and  reasoned  wisely, 
that  Slavery  must  perish  in  the  progress  of  human  society, 
and,  therefore,  they  accepted  the  compromise. 

There  has  never  been  a  statesman  in  the  history  of  the 
world  who  has  not  used  this  method  of  constructive  prog- 
ress. There  will  never  be  a  statesman  who  succeeds  who 
can  use  any  other  method  in  dealing  with  masses  of  his 
fellow  men. 

Douglas  was  the  coming  constructive  statesman  of  the 
republic  and  all  eyes  were  being  focused  on  him.  His  life 
at  the  moment  was  the  fevered  center  of  the  nation's 
thought.  That  his  ambitions  were  boundless  no  one  who 
knew  the  man  doubted.  That  his  patriotism  was  as  gen- 
uine and  as  great  all  knew  at  last. 

Lee  studied  every  feature  of  his  fine  face.  No  eye  could 
miss  him  in  an  assemblage  of  people,  no  matter  how  great 
the  numbers.  His  compact  figure  was  erect,  aggressive, 
dominant.  A  personage,  whose  sense  of  power  came  from 
within,  not  without.  He  was  master  of  himself  and  of 
others.  He  looked  the  lion  and  he  was  one.  The  lines  of 


28 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

his  face  were  handsome  in  the  big  sense,  strong,  regular, 
masculine.  He  drew  young  men  as  a  magnet.  His  vitality 
inspired  them.  His  stature  was  small  in  height,  measured 
by  inches,  but  of  such  dignity,  power  and  magnetism  that 
he  suggested  Napoleon. 

He  smiled  into  Colonel  Lee's  face  and  his  smile  lighted 
the  room.  Every  man  and  woman  present  was  warmed 
by  it. 

Douglas  had  scarcely  greeted  Mrs.  Lee  and  passed  into 
an  earnest  conversation  with  the  young  Congressman  when 
Robert  Toombs  of  Georgia  entered. 

Toombs  had  become  within  two  years  the  successor  of 
John  C.  Calhoun.  He  had  the  genius  of  Calhoun,  elo- 
quence as  passionate,  as  resistless ;  and  he  had  all  of  Cal- 
houn's  weaknesses.  He  called  a  spade  a  spade.  He 
loathed  compromise.  Three  years  before  he  had  swept  the 
floor  and  galleries  of  the  House  with  a  burst  of  impas- 
sioned eloquence  that  had  made  him  a  national  figure. 

Lifting  his  magnificent  head  he  had  cried: 

"I  do  not  hesitate  to  avow  before  this  House  and  the 
County,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  living  God,  that  if  by 
your  legislation  you  seek  to  drive  us  from  the  Territory  of 
California  and  New  Mexico,  purchased  by  the  blood  of 
Southern  white  people,  and  to  abolish  Slavery  in  the  Dis- 
trict of  Columbia,  thereby  attempting  to  fix  a  national 
degradation  upon  half  the  States  of  this  Confederacy, 
/  am  for  dis-unlon.  The  Territories  are  the  common  prop- 
erty of  the  United  States.  You  are  their  common 
agents ;  it  is  your  duty  while  they  are  in  the  Ter- 
ritorial state  to  remove  all  impediments  to  their  free 
enjoyment  by  both  sections — the  slave  holder  and  the  non- 
slave  holder!" 

He  was  the  man  of  iron  will,  of  passionate  convictions. 
He  might  lead  a  revolution.  He  could  not  compromise. 


29 


His  rapidly  growing  power  was  an  ominous  thing  in  the 
history  of  the  South.  Lee  studied  his  face  with  increasing 
fascination. 

In  this  gathering  no  man  or  woman  thought  of  wealth 
as  the  source  of  power  or  end  of  life.  No  one  spoke  of 
it.  Office,  rank,  position,  talent,  beauty,  charm,  person- 
ality— these  things  alone  could  count.  These  men  and 
women  lived.  They  did  not  merely  exist.  They  were 
making  the  history  of  the  world  and  yet  they  refused  to 
rush  through  life.  Their  souls  demanded  hours  of  repose, 
of  thought,  of  joy  and  they  took  them. 

Toombs'  pocket  was  stuffed  with  a  paper-backed  edi- 
tion of  a  French  play.  It  was  his  habit  to  read  them  in 
the  original  with  keen  enjoyment  in  moments  of  leisure. 
The  hum  of  social  life  filled  the  room  and  strife  was  for- 
gotten. Douglas  and  Toombs  were  boys  again  and  Lee 
was  their  companion. 

Mary  Lee  managed  to  avoid  Stuart  and  took  her  seat 
beside  Phil  Sheridan — not  to  tease  her  admirer  but  to 
give  to  her  Western  guest  the  warmest  welcome  of  the 
old  South.  She  knew  the  dinner  would  be  a  revelation  to 
Phil  and  she  would  enjoy  his  appreciation. 

The  long  table  groaned  under  the  luxuries  of  the  season. 
Course  succeeded  course,  cooked  with  a  delicate  skill  un- 
known to  the  world  of  to-day.  The  oysters,  fresh,  fat, 
luscious,  were  followed  by  diamond-back  terrapin  stew  as 
a  soup. 

Phil  tasted  it  and  whispered  to  his  fair  young  hostess. 

"Miss  Mary,  what  is  this  I'm  eating?" 

"Don't  you  like  it?" 

"I  never  expected  to  taste  it  on  earth.  I've  only 
dreamed  about  it  on  high." 

"It's  only  terrapin  stew.    We  serve  it  as  a  soup." 

"The  angels  made  it." 


30 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"No,  Aunt  Hannah." 

"I  won't  take  it  back.  Angels  only  could  brew  this 
soup." 

The  terrapin  was  followed  by  old  Virginia  ham  and 
turnip  greens.  And  then  came  the  turkey  with  chestnut 
stuffing  and  jellies.  The  long  table,  flashing  with  old 
china  and  silver,  held  the  staples  of  ham  and  turkey  as 
ornaments  as  well  as  dainties  for  the  palate.  The  real 
delicacies  were  served  later,  the  ducks  which  Doyle  had 
sent  the  Colonel,  and  plate  after  plate  of  little,  brown, 
juicy  birds  called  sora,  so  tender  and  toothsome  they 
could  be  eaten  bones  and  all. 

When  Phil  wound  up  with  cakes  and  custards,  apples, 
pears  and  nuts  from  the  orchard  and  fields,  his  mind  was 
swimming  in  a  dream  of  luxury.  And  over  it  all  the  spirit 
of  true  hospitality  brooded.  A  sense  of  home  and  reality 
as  intimate,  as  genuine  as  if  he  sat  beside  his  mother's 
chair  in  the  little  cottage  in  Ohio. 

"Lord  save  me,"  he  breathed.  "If  I  stay  here  long  I'll 
have  but  one  hope,  to  own  a  plantation  and  a  home  like 
this—" 

Toombs  sat  on  Lee's  right  and  Douglas  on  his  left.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Pryor  occupied  the  places  of  honor  beside  Mrs. 
Lee. 

The  Colonel's  keen  eye  studied  Douglas  with  untiring 
patience.  To  his  rising  star,  the  man  who  loved  the  Union, 
was  drawn  as  by  a  magnet.  Toombs,  the  Whig,  belonged 
to  his  own  Party,  the  aristocracy  of  brains  and  the  in- 
heritors of  the  right  to  leadership.  He  was  studying 
Toombs  with  growing  misgivings.  He  dreaded  the  radi- 
calism within  the  heart  of  the  Southern  Whig. 

His  eye  rested  on  Sam,  serving  the  food  as  assistant 
butler  in  Ben's  absence.  In  the  kink  of  his  hair,  the  bulge 
of  his  smiling  lips,  the  spread  of  his  nostrils,  the  whites  of 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 31 

his  rolling  eyes,  he  saw  the  Slave.  He  saw  the  mystery, 
the  brooding  horror,  the  baffling  uncertainty,  the  insoluble 
problem  of  such  a  man  within  a  democracy  of  self-govern- 
ing freemen.  He  stood  bowing  and  smiling  over  his  guests, 
in  shape  a  man.  And  yet  in  racial  development  a  million 
years  behind  the  wit  and  intelligence  of  the  two  leaders 
at  his  side. 

Over  this  dusky  figure,  from  the  dawn  of  American  his- 
tory our  fathers  had  wrangled  and  compromised.  More 
than  once  he  had  threatened  to  divide  or  destroy  the 
Union.  Reason  and  the  compromises  of  great  minds  had 
saved  us.  In  Sam  he  saw  this  grinning  skeleton  at  his 
feast. 

He  could  depend  on  the  genius  of  Douglas  when  the 
supreme  crisis  came.  He  felt  the  quality  of  his  mind  to- 
night. But  could  Douglas  control  the  mob  impulse  of 
the  North  where  such  appeals  as  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  had 
gripped  the  souls  of  millions  and  reason  no  longer  ruled 
life? 

There  was  the  rub. 

There  was  no  question  of  the  genius  of  Douglas.  The 
question  was  could  any  leadership  count  if  the  mob,  not 
the  man,  became  our  real  ruler?  The  task  of  Douglas 
was  to  hold  the  fanatic  of  the  North  while  he  soothed  the 
passions  of  the  radical  of  the  South.  Henry  Clay  had 
succeeded.  But  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  had  not  been  written 
in  his  day. 

Toombs  was  becoming  a  firebrand.  His  eloquence  was 
doing  in  the  South  what  Mrs.  Stowe's  novel  was  doing  in 
the  North — preparing  the  soil  for  revolution — planting 
gunpowder  under  the  foundations  of  society. 

Could  these  forces  yet  be  controlled  or  were  they  already 
beyond  control? 


CHAPTER  V 

AFTER  dinner,  Jeb  Stuart  succeeded  in  separating 
Mary  from  Phil  and  began  again  his  adoration. 
The  men  adjourned  to  the  library  to  .discuss  the 
Presidential  Campaign  and  weigh  the  chances  of  General 
Scott  against  Franklin  Pierce.     The  comment  of  Toombs 
was  grim  in  its  sarcasm  and  early  let  him  out  of  the  dis- 
cussion. 

"It  doesn't  matter  in  the  least,  gentlemen,  who  is  elected 
in  November,"  he  observed.  "There's  nothing  before  the 
country  as  yet.  Not  even  an  honest-to-God  man." 

Lee  shook  his  head  gravely. 

Toombs  parried  his  protest. 

"I  know,  Colonel  Lee,  you're  fond  of  the  old  General. 
You  fought  with  him  in  Mexico.  But — "  he  dropped  his 
voice  to  a  friendly  whisper — "all  the  same,  you  know  that 
what  I  say  is  true." 

He  took  a  cigar  from  the  mantel,  lighted  it  and  waved 
to  the  group. 

"I'll  take  a  little  stroll  and  smoke." 

Custis  took  Phil  to  the  cottage  of  the  foreman  to  see  a 
night  school  in  session. 

"You  mean  the  overseer's  place?"  Phil  asked  eagerly, 
as  visions  of  Simon  Legree  flashed  through  his  mind. 

"No — I  mean  Uncle  Ike's  cottage.  He's  the  foreman  of 
the  farm.  We  have  no  white  overseer." 

32 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 33 

Phil  was  shocked.  He  had  supposed  every  Southern 
plantation  had  a  white  overseer  as  slave  driver  with  a 
blacksnake  whip  in  his  hand.  A  negro  foreman  was  in- 
credible. As  a  matter  of  fact  there  were  more  negro 
foremen  than  white  overseers  in  the  South. 

In  Uncle  Ike's  cottage  by  the  light  of  many  candles  the 
school  for  boys  was  in  session.  Custis'  brother  "Rooney," 
was  the  teacher.  He  had  six  pupils  besides  Sam.  Not 
one  of  them  knew  his  lesson  to-night  and  Rooney  was 
furious. 

As  Phil  and  Custis  entered,  he  was  just  finishing  a 
wrathful  lecture.  His  pupils  were  standing  in  a  row 
grinning  their  apologies. 

"I've  told  you  boys  for  the  last  three  weeks  that  I  won't 
stand  this.  You  don't  have  to  go  to  school  to  me  if  you 
don't  want  to.  But  if  you  join  my  school  you've  got  to 
study.  Do  you  hear  me?" 

"Yassah !"  came  the  answer  in  solid  chorus. 

"Well,  you'll  do  more  than  hear  me  to-night.  You're 
going  to  heed  what  I  say.  I'm  going  to  thrash  the  whole 
school." 

Sam  broke  into  a  loud  laugh.  And  a  wail  of  woe  came 
from  every  dusky  figure. 

"Darnow!" 

"Hear  dat,  folks—?" 

"I  been  a  tellin'  ye  chillun — " 

"I  lubs  my  spellin'  book — but,  oh,  dat  hickory  switch !" 

"Oh,  Lordy— " 

"Gib  us  anudder  chance,  Marse  Rooney!" 

"Not  another  chance,"  was  the  stern  answer.  "Lay  off 
your  coats." 

They  began  to  peel  their  coats.  Big,  strapping,  husky 
fellows  nudging  one  another  and  grinning  at  their  four- 
teen-year-old schoolmaster.  It  was  no  use  to  protest. 


34 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

They  knew  they  deserved  it.  A  whipping  was  one  of  the 
minor  misfortunes  of  life.  Its  application  was  universal. 
No  other  method  of  discipline  had  yet  been  dreamed  by 
the  advanced  thinkers  and  rulers  of  the  world.  "Spare 
the  rod  and  spoil  the  child"  was  accepted  as  the  Word 
of  God  and  only  a  fool  could  doubt  it.  The  rod  was  the 
emblem  of  authority  for  child,  pupil,  apprentice  and  sol- 
dier. The  negro  slave  as  a  workman  got  less  of  it  than 
any  other  class.  It  was  the  rule  of  a  Southern  master 
never  to  use  the  rod  on  a  slave  except  for  crime  if  it  could 
be  avoided.  To  flog  one  for  laziness  was  the  exception,  not 
the  rule. 

The  old  Virginia  gentleman  prided  himself  particularly 
on  the  tenderness  and  care  with  which  he  guarded  the  life 
of  his  servants.  If  the  weather  was  cold  and  his  men  ex- 
posed, he  waited  to  see  that  they  had  dry  clothes  and  a 
warm  drink  before  they  went  to  bed.  He  never  failed  to 
remember  that  his  white  skin  could  endure  more  than  their 
sunburned  dark  ones. 

The  young  school-teacher  had  no  scruples  on  applying 
the  rod.  He  selected  his  switches  with  care,  and  tested 
their  strength  and  flexibility  while  he  gave  the  bunch  a 
piece  of  his  mind. 

"What  do  you  think  I'm  coming  down  here  every  night 
for,  anyhow?"  he  stormed. 

"Lordy,  Marse  Rooney,"  Sam  pleaded,  "doan  we  all 
pay  you  fur  our  schoolin'?" 

"Yes,  you  do  when  I  can  manage  to  choke  it  out  of 
you.  One  dozen  eggs  a  month  or  one  pullet  every  two 
months.  And  I  don't  even  ask  you  where  you  got  the  eggs 
or  the  pullet." 

"Marse  Rooney !"  protested  Sam.  "Yer  know  we  gets 
'em  outen  our  own  yards  er  buys  'em  from  de  servants." 

"I  hope  you  do.     Though  my  mother  says  she  don't 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 35 

know  how  we  eat  so  many  chickens  and  eggs  at  the  house. 
Anyhow  I'm  not  here  because  I'm  going  to  get  rich  on  the 
tuition  you  pay  me.  I'm  not  here  for  my  health.  I'm 
here  from  a  sense  of  duty  to  you  boys — " 

"Yassah,  we  know  dat,  sah !" 

"Give  us  annuder  chance  an'  we  sho'  study  dem  les- 
sons— " 

"I  gave  you  another  chance  the  last  time.  I'll  try  a 
little  hickory  tea  this  time." 

He  began  at  the  end  of  the  line  and  belabored  each  one 
faithfully.  They  shouted  in  mockery  and  roared  with 
laughter,  scampered  over  the  room  and  dodged  behind 
chairs  and  tables. 

Phil  fairly  split  his  sides  laughing. 

When  the  fun  was  over,  they  drew  close  to  their  teacher 
and  promised  faithfully  to  have  every  word  of  the  next 
lesson.  They  nudged  each  other  and  whispered  their  jokes 
about  the  beating. 

"Must  er  bin  er  flea  bitin'  me !" 

"I  felt  sumfin.  Don't  'zactly  know  what  it  wuz.  Mebbe 
a  chigger!" 

"Must  er  been  a  flea.    Hit  bit  me,  too !" 

Sam  tried  to  redeem  himself  for  failing  on  his  lessons 
in  arithmetic.  He  had  long  ago  learned  to  read  and  write 
and  had  asked  for  a  course  in  history.  The  young  teacher 
had  given  him  a  copy  of  Gulliver's  Travels. 

"Look  a  here,  Marse  Rooney,  I  been  a  readin'  dat  book 
yer  gimme — " 

"Well,  that's  good." 

"Yer  say  dat  book's  history?" 

"Well,  it's  what  we  call  fiction,  but  I  think  fiction's  the 
very  best  history  we  can  read.  It  may  not  have  happened 
just  that  way  but  it's  true  all  the  same." 

"Well,  ef  hit  nebber  happened,  I  dunno  'bout  dat,"  Sam 


36 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

objected.  "I  been  suspicionin'  fer  a  long  time  dat  some 
o'  dem  things  that  Gulliver  say  nebber  happen  nohow." 

"You  read  it,"  the  teacher  ordered. 

"Yassah,  I  sho  gwine  ter  read  it,  happen  er  no  happen. 
Glory  be  ter  God.  Just  'cause  yer  tells  me,  sah !" 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  next  morning  found  Phil  walking  again  between 
the  white,  clean  rows  of  the  quarter  houses.     He 
was    always    finding    something    to    interest    him. 
Every  yard  had  its  gorgeous  red  autumn  flowers.     Some 
of  them  had  roses  in  bloom.    The  walks  from  the  gate  to 
the  door  were  edged  with  white-washed  bricks  or  conch 
shells.    The  conch  shells  were  souvenirs  of  summer  outings 
at  the  seashore. 

In  the  corner  of  the  back  yard  there  was  the  tall  pole 
on  which  were  hung  five  or  six  dried  gourds  with  tiny  holes 
cut  in  the  sides  for  the  martins.  And  every  gourd  had  its 
black  family.  The  martins  were  the  guardians  of  the 
servants'  chicken  yards.  The  hawks  were  numerous  and 
the  woods  close  to  the  quarters.  Few  chickens  were  lost 
by  hawks.  The  martins  circled  the  skies  in  battalions, 
watching,  chattering,  guarding,  basking  in  the  southern 
sun. 

At  noon  the  assembly  bell  rang  at  the  end  of  the  Broad- 
way of  the  quarters.  From  every  cottage,  from  field  and 
stable,  blacksmith  shop,  carpenter's  shop,  the  house  of  the 
spinners,  the  weavers,  the  dairy,  the  negroes  poured  to- 
ward the  shed  beside  the  bell  tower. 

"What  is  it?"  Phil  asked  of  Custis. 

"Saturday  noon.    All  work  stops." 

37 


88 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"My  Lord,  it's  been  raining  nearly  all  morning.  The 
field  hands  haven't  worked  a  lick  all  day.  Do  they  stop, 
too?" 

"It's  the  unwritten  law  of  the  South.  We  would  no 
more  think  of  working  on  Saturday  afternoon  than  on 
Sunday." 

"What  are  they  gathering  under  that  shed  for?"  Phil 
inquired. 

Custis  led  him  to  the  shed  where  Ike,  the  foreman,  stood 
with  Mrs.  Lee  beside  a  long  table  on  which  were  piled  the 
provisions  for  the  week  to  follow. 

The  negroes  laughed  and  chattered  like  a  flock  of  black- 
birds picking  grain  in  a  wheat  field.  To  each  head  of  a 
family  was  given  six  pounds  of  meat  for  each  person.  A 
father,  mother  and  two  children  received  twenty-four 
pounds.  Their  bread  was  never  rationed.  The  barrel  in 
each  cottage  was  filled  from  the  grist  mill,  a  bag  full  at  a 
time.  They  had  their  own  garden  and  flocks  of  chickens. 
Sugar,  coffee  and  molasses  were  given  on  the  first  of  each 
month. 

"Come  right  back  here  now  all  ob  you!"  Ike  shouted, 
"des  ez  quick  ez  yer  put  yo  vittles  away.  De  Missis 
gwine  gib  ye  yo'  winter  close  now,  case  she  gwine  ter  Wes* 
Pint  next  week." 

The  provisions  were  swept  from  the  long  table.  Out 
of  the  storehouse  came  huge  piles  of  clothing  and  blankets. 
Each  package  was  marked  with  the  owner's  name. 

To  each  pair,  man  and  wife,  or  two  children,  was  given 
a  new  wool  blanket.  This  was,  of  course,  added  to  the 
stock  each  house  had  already.  A  woolen  blanket  was  good 
for  ten  years'  wear.  Many  a  servant's  house  had  a  dozen 
blankets  for  each  bed.  Besides  the  blankets,  to  every 
woman  with  a  baby  was  given  a  quilted  comfort. 

To  each  man,  woman  and  child  were  allotted  two  com- 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 39 

plete  woolen  suits  for  the  winter,  a  new  pair  of  shoes  and 
three  pairs  of  stockings.  In  the  spring  two  suits  of  cotton 
would  be  given  for  summer.  The  thrifty  ones  had  their 
cedar  chests  piled  with  clothes.  Many  had  not  worn  the 
suits  given  out  a  year  ago. 

The  heads  of  large  families  trudged  away  with  six  or 
seven  blankets,  a  comfort,  and  twenty  suits  of  clothes. 
It  sometimes  took  the  father,  mother  and  two  of  the  chil- 
dren to  carry  the  load. 

But  the  most  amazing  thing  which  Phil  saw  was  the 
sudden  transformation  of  the  shed  into  a  market  for  the 
sale  of  slave  produce  to  the  mistress  of  Arlington. 

Mrs.  Lee  had  watched  the  distribution  of  clothes,  blan- 
kets, quilts,  shoes  and  stockings  for  the  winter  and  then 
became  the  purchaser  of  all  sorts  of  little  luxuries  which 
the  slave  had  made  in  his  leisure  hours  on  Saturday  after- 
noons and  at  night.  The  little  boys  and  girls  sold  her 
dried  wild  fruits.  The  women  had  made  fine  jellies.  They 
all  had  chickens  and  eggs  t'o  sell  to  the  big  house.  Some 
had  become  experts  in  making  peanut  brittle  and  fudge. 

They  not  only  sold  their  wares  here,  but  they  also  sold 
them  in  the  market  in  Washington.  The  old  men  were 
expert  basket  and  broom  makers.  The  slaves  made  so 
much  extra  money  on  their  chickens,  peanuts,  pop-corn, 
fudge,  brittle,  molasses  cakes,  baskets,  brooms,  mats  and 
taking  in  sewing,  that  they  were  able  to  buy  many  per- 
sonal luxuries.  Phil  observed  one  dusky  belle  already  ar- 
rayed in  a  silk  dress  for  the  Saturday  afternoon  outing 
with  her  beau.  A  few  of  them  had  their  Sunday  dresses 
made  by  fashionable  mantua  makers  in  Washington. 

In  addition  to  the  regular  distribution  of  clothing,  the 
household  supplied  to  the  servants  in  rapid  succession 
everything  worn  by  master,  mistress,  son  or  daughter. 
Knowing  that  their  clothes  were  being  watched  and 


40 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

guarded  by  longing  eyes,  they  never  wore  them  very  long. 
Mary  Lee  was  distributing  a  dozen  dresses  now  to  the  girls. 
They  had  been  made  within  the  past  year. 

Phil  observed  Sam  arrayed  in  a  swallowtail  coat  of 
immaculate  cut  stroll  by  with  his  best  girl.  She  was 
dressed  in  silk  with  full  hoop-skirts,  ruffles,  ribbons  and 
flowers. 

Sid  annoyed  Sam  by  calling  loudly: 

"Doan  yer  stay  too  late  ter  dat  party.  Ef  ye  do  I'll 
hatter  sing  fur  ye — 

"Run,  nigger,  run,  de  patterole  ketch  you. 
Nigger  run,  de  nigger  flew, 
De  nigger  loss  his  best  ole  shoe! 
Run,  nigger,  run.    Run,  nigger,  run.    Run,  nigger,  run." 

Sam  waved  his  arm  in  a  long  laugh. 

"Dey  won't  git  me,  chile.    I'se  er  conjur  man,  I  is !" 

Phil  had  supposed  the  patrol  of  the  mysterious  mounted 
police  of  the  South — the  men  who  rode  at  night — were  to 
the  slave  always  a  tragic  terror. 

It  seemed  a  thing  for  joke  and  ribald  song. 

After  lunch,  the  negroes  entered  on  the  afternoon's  fun 
or  work.  The  industrious  ones  plied  their  trades  to  earn 
money  for  luxuries.  The  boys  who  loved  to  fish  and  hunt 
rabbits  hurried  to  the  river  and  the  fields.  There  was  al- 
ways a  hound  at  their  service  for  a  rabbit  hunt  on  Sat- 
urday afternoons.  Some  were  pitching  horse  shoes.  Two 
groups  began  to  play  marbles. 

The  marketing  done  for  the  house,  the  mistress  of  Ar- 
lington, with  medicine  case  in  hand,  started  on  her  round 
of  healing  for  body  and  mind.  Mary  offered  to  go  with 
her  but  the  mother  saw  Stuart  hovering  about  and  quietly 
answered : 


41 


"No.  You  can  comfort  poor  Jeb.  He  looks  discon- 
solate." 

Into  every  cottage  she  moved,  a  quiet,  ministering  angel. 
Every  hope  and  fear  of  ailing  young  or  old  found  in  her 
an  ear  to  hear,  a  heart  to  pity  and  an  arm  to  save. 

If  she  found  a  case  of  serious  illness,  a  doctor  was 
called  and  a  nurse  set  to  watch  by  the  bedside.  Every 
delicacy  and  luxury  the  big  house  held  was  at  the  com- 
mand of  the  sufferer  and  that  without  stint. 

In  all  these  clean  flower-set  cottages  there  was  not  a 
single  crippled  servant  maimed  in  the  service  of  his  mas- 
ter. No  black  man  or  woman  was  allowed  to  do  danger- 
ous work.  All  dangerous  tasks  were  done  by  hired  white 
laborers.  They  were  hired  by  the  day  under  contract 
through  their  boss.  Even  ditches  on  the  farm  if  they  ran 
through  swamp  lands  infested  by  malaria,  were  dug  by 
white  hired  labor.  The  master  would  not  permit  his  slave 
to  take  such  risks. 

But  the  most  important  ministry  of  the  mistress  of  Ar- 
lington was  in  the  medicine  for  the  soul  which  she  brought 
to  the  life  and  character  of  each  servant  for  whose  train- 
ing she  had  accepted  responsibility. 

To  her  even  the  master  proudly  and  loyally  yielded 
authority.  Her  sway  over  the  servants  was  absolute  in 
its  spiritual  power.  Into  their  souls  in  hours  of  trial  she 
poured  the  healing  and  inspiration  of  a  beautiful  spirit. 
The  mistress  of  Arlington  was  delicate  and  frail  in  body. 
But  out  of  her  physical  suffering  the  spirit  rose  to  greater 
heights  with  each  day's  duty  and  service. 

This  mysterious  power  caught  the  warm  imagination 
of  the  negroes.  They  were  "servants"  to  others.  They 
were  her  slaves  and  they  rejoiced  in  the  bond  that  bound 
them.  They  knew  that  her  body  had  no  rest  from  morn- 
ing until  far  into  the  hours  of  the  night  if  one  of  her  own 


42 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

needed  care.  The  master  could  shift  his  responsibility  to 
a  trained  foreman.  No  forewoman  could  take  her  place. 
To  the  whole  scheme  of  life  she  gave  strength  and  beauty. 
The  beat  of  her  heart  made  its  wheels  go  round. 

The  young  Westerner  studied  her  with  growing  admira- 
tion and  pity.  She  was  the  mistress  of  an  historic  house. 
She  was  the  manager  of  an  estate.  She  was  the  counsellor 
of  every  man,  woman  and  child  in  happiness  or  in  sorrow. 
She  was  an  accomplished  doctor.  She  was  a  trained  nurse. 
She  taught  the  hearts  of  men  and  women  with  a  wisdom 
more  profound  and  searching  than  any  preacher  or 
philosopher  from  his  rostrum.  She  had  mastered  the  art 
of  dressmaking  and  the  tailor's  trade.  She  was  an  expert 
housekeeper.  She  lived  at  the  beck  and  call  of  all.  She 
was  idolized  by  her  husband.  Her  life  was  a  supreme  act 
of  worship — a  devotion  to  husband,  children,  friends, 
the  poor,  the  slave  that  made  her  a  high-priestess  of  hu- 
manity. 

The  thing  that  struck  Phil  with  terrific  force  was  that 
this  beautiful  delicate  woman  was  the  slave  of  slaves. 

As  a  rule,  they  died  young. 

He  began  to  wonder  how  a  people  of  the  intelligence  of 
these  proud  white  Southerners  could  endure  such  a  thing 
as  Slavery.  Its  waste,  its  extravagance,  its  burdens  were 
beyond  belief. 

He  laughed  when  he  thought  of  his  mother  crying  over 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.  Yet  a  new  edition  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand copies  had  just  come  from  the  press. 

Early  Sunday  morning  Custis  asked  him  to  go  down  to 
the  quarters  to  see  Uncle  Ben,  the  butler,  who  had  not  yet 
resumed  his  duties.  He  had  sent  an  urgent  message  to  his 
young  master  asking  him  to  be  kind  enough  to  call  on 
Sunday.  The  message  was  so  formal  and  reserved  Custis 
knew  it  was  of  more  than  usual  importance. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY |43 

They  found  the  old  man  superintending  a  special  break- 
fast of  fried  fish  for  two  little  boys,  neatly  served  at  a 
table  with  spotless  cloth.  Robbie  and  his  friend,  John 
Doyle,  were  eating  the  fish  they  had  caught  with  Uncle 
Ben  the  day  before.  They  were  as  happy  as  kings  and 
talked  of  fish  and  fishing  with  the  unction  of  veteran 
sportsmen. 

The  greeting  to  Custis  was  profound  in  its  courtesy  and 
reverence.  He  was  the  first  born  of  the  great  house.  He 
was,  therefore,  the  prospective  head  of  the  estate.  Jeffer- 
sonian  Democrats  had  long  ago  abolished  the  old  English 
law  of  primo-geniture.  But  the  idea  was  in  the  blood  of 
the  Virginia  planter.  The  servants  caught  it  as  quickly 
as  they  caught  the  other  English  traits  of  love  of  home, 
family,  kin,  the  cult  of  leisure,  the  habit  of  Church,  the 
love  of  country.  It  was  not  an  accident  that  the  decisions 
of  the  courts  of  the  Old  South  were  quoted  by  English 
barristers  and  accepted  by  English  judges  as  law.  The 
Common  Law  of  England  was  the  law  of  Southern  Sea- 
board States.  It  always  had  been  and  it  is  to-day. 

"How  is  you  dis  mornin',  Marse  Custis?"  Ben  asked 
with  a  stately  bow. 

"Fine,  Uncle  Ben.    I  hope  you're  better?" 

"Des  tolerble,  sah,  des  tolerble — "  he  paused  and  bowed 
to  Phil.  "An5  dis  is  you5  school-mate  at  Wes'  Pint,  dey 
tells  me  about?" 

"Yes,  Uncle,"  Phil  answered. 

"I'se  glad  ter  welcome  yer  ter  Arlington,  sah.  [And 
I'se  powerful  sorry  I  ain't  able  ter  be  in  de  big  house  ter 
see  dat  yer  git  ebry  thing  ter  make  yer  happy,  sah.  Dese 
here  young  niggers  lak  Sam  do  pooty  well.  But  dey  ain't 
got  much  sense,  sah.  And  dey  ain't  got  no  unction  'tall. 
Dey  do  de  best  dey  kin  an'  dat  ain't  much." 


44  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Oh,  I'm  having  a  fine  time,  Uncle  Ben,"  Phil  assured 
him. 

"Praise  de  Lord,  sah." 

"Sam  told  me  you  wanted  to  see  me,  Uncle  Ben,"  Custis 
said. 

"  'Bout  sumfin  mos'  particular,  sah — " 

"At  your  service." 

The  old  man  waved  to  his  wife  to  look  after  the  boys' 
breakfast. 

"Pile  dem  fish  up  on  der  plates,  Hannah.  Fill  'em  up 
—fill 'em  up!" 

"We're  mos'  full  now !"  Robbie  shouted. 

"No  we  ain't,"  John  protested.     "I  jis  begun." 

Ben  led  the  young  master  and  his  friend  out  the  back 
idoor,  past  the  long  pile  of  cord  wood,  past  the  chicken 
yard  to  a  strong  box  which  he  had  built  on  tall  legs  under 
a  mulberry  tree.  It  was  constructed  of  oak  and  the 
neatly  turned  gable  roof  was  covered  with  old  tin  care- 
fully painted  with  three  coats  of  red.  A  heavy  hasp, 
staple  and  padlock  held  the  solid  door. 

Ben  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  drew  forth  his  keys  and 
opened  it.  The  box  was  his  fireproof  and  ratproof  safe  in 
which  the  old  man  kept  his  valuables.  His  money,  his 
trinkets,  his  hammer  and  nails,  augur  and  bits,  screw- 
driver and  monkeywrench.  From  the  top  shelf  he  drew 
a  tin  can.  A  heavy  piece  of  linen  tied  with  a  string1  served 
as  a  cover. 

He  carefully  untied  the  string  in  silence.  He  shook  the 
can.  The  boys  saw  that  it  was  filled  with  salt  of  the  coarse 
kind  used  to  preserve  meats. 

Ben  felt  carefully  in  the  salt,  drew  forth  a  shriveled 
piece  of  dark  gristle,  and  held  it  up  before  his  youmg 
master. 

"Yer  know  what  dat  is,  Marse  Custis?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 45 

Custis  shook  his  head. 

From  the  old  man's  tones  of  deep  emotion  he  knew  the 
matter  was  serious.  He  thought  at  once  of  the  Hoodoo. 
But  he  could  make  out  no  meaning  to  this  bit  of  preserved 
flesh. 

"Never  saw  anything  like  it." 

"Nasah.     I  spec  yer  didn't.'* 

Ben  pushed  the  gray  hair  back  from  his  left  ear.  He 
wore  his  hair  drawn  low  over  the  tips  of  his  ears.  It  was 
a  fad  of  his,  which  he  never  allowed  to  lapse. 

"See  anything  funny  'bout  de  top  o'  dat  year,  sah?" 

Custis  looked  carefully. 

"It  looks  shorter—" 

"Hit's  er  lot  shorter.  De  top  ob  hit's  clean  gone,  sah. 
Dat's  why  I  allus  combs  my  ha'r  down  close  over  my 
years — " 

He  paused  and  held  up  the  piece  of  dried  flesh. 

"An'  dat's  hit,  sah." 

"A  piece  of  your  ear?" 

"Hit  sho  is.  Ye  see,  sah,  a  long  time  ergo  when  I  wuz 
young  an'  strong  ez  er  bull,  one  er  dese  here  uppish  nig- 
gers come  ter  our  house  drivin'  a  carriage  frum  Westover 
on  de  James,  an'  'gin  ter  brag  'bout  his  folks  bein'  de  bes' 
blood  er  ole  Virginia.  An'  man  I  tells  him  sumfin.  I  tells 
dat  fool  nigger  dat  de  folks  at  Westover  wuz  des  fair  ter 
midlin.  Dat  our  folks  wuz,  an'  allus  wuz,  de  very  fust 
fambly  o'  Virginy !  I  tells  him  dat  Marse  Robert's  father 
was  General  Light  Horse  Harry  Lee  dat  help  General 
Washington  wid  de  Revolution.  Dat  he  wuz  de  Govenor 
o'  ole  Virginy.  Dat  he  speak  de  piece  at  de  funeral  o' 
George  Washington,  dat  we  all  knows  by  heart,  now — 

"  'Fust  in  war,  fust  in  peace  and  fust  in  de  hearts  o'  his 
countrymen.' 


46 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"I  tells  him  dat  Marse  Robert's  mother  wuz  a  Carter. 
I  tells  him  dat  he  could  count  more  dan  one  hundred 
gemmen  his  kin.  Dat  his  folks  allus  had  been  de  very  fust 
fambly  in  Virginy.  I  tells  him  dat  he  marry  my  Missis, 
de  gran'  daughter  o'  ole  Gineral  Washington  his-salf-^- 
an'  den—" 

He  paused. 

"An'  den,  what  ye  reckon  dat  fool  nigger  say  ter  me?" 

"Couldn't  guess." 

"He  say  General  Washington  nebber  had  no  children. 
And  den  man,  man,  when  he  insult  me  lak  dat,  I  jump  on 
him  lak  a  wil'  cat.  We  fought  an'  we  fit.  We  fit  an'  we 
fought.  I  got  him  down  an'  bit  one  o'  his  years  clean  off 
smooth  wid  his  head.  In  de  las'  clinch  he  git  hoi'  er  my 
lef  year  a'fo'  I  could  shake  him,  he  bit  de  top  of  hit  off, 
sah.  I  got  him  by  the  froat  an'  choke  hit  outen  his  mouf. 
And  dar  hit  is,  sah." 

He  held  up  the  dried  piece  of  his  ear  reverently. 

"And  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  with  it,  Uncle  Ben?" 
Custis  asked  seriously. 

"Nuttin  right  now,  sah.  But  I  ain't  got  long  ter 
live—" 

"Oh,  you'll  be  well  in  a  few  days,  Uncle  Ben." 

"I  mought  an'  den  agin  I  moughtent.  I  been  lyin' 
awake  at  night  worryin'  'bout  dat  year  o'  mine.  Ye  see 
hit  wouldn't  do  tall  fur  me  ter  go  walkin'  dem  golden 
streets  up  dar  in  Heben  wid  one  o'  my  years  lopped  off 
lake  a  shoat  er  a  calf  dat's  been  branded.  Some  o'  dem 
niggers  standin'  on  dat  gol'  sidewalk  would  laugh  at  me. 
An'  dat  would  hurt  my  feelin's.  Some  smart  Aleck  would 
be  sho  ter  holler,  'Dar  come  ole  Ben.  But  he  ain't  got  but 
one  year !'  Dat  wouldn't  do,  tall,  sah." 

Phil  bit  his  lips  to  keep  from  laughing.  He  saw  the 
thing  was  no  joke  for  the  old  man.  It  was  a  grim  tragedy. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 47 

"What  I  wants  ter  axe,  Marse  Custis,  is  dat  you  prom- 
ise me  faithful,  ez  my  young  master,  dat  when  I  die  you 
come  to  me,  get  dis  year  o'  mine  outen  dis  salt  box  an' 
stick  hit  back  right  whar  it  b'long  'fore  dey  nail  me  up 
in  de  coffin.  I  des  can't  'ford  ter  walk  down  dem  golden 
streets,  'fore  all  dat  company,  wid  a  piece  er  my  year 
missin'.  Will  ye  promise  me,  sah?" 

Custis  grasped  the  outstretched  hand  and  clasped  it. 

"I  promise  you,  Uncle  Ben,  faithfully." 

"Den  hit's  all  right,  sah.  When  a  Lee  make  a  prom- 
ise, hit's  des  ez  good  ez  done.  I  know  dat  case  I  know 
who  I'se  er  talkin'  to." 

He  placed  the  piece  of  gristle  back  into  the  tin  can, 
covered  it  with  salt,  tied  the  linen  cover  over  it  care- 
fully, put  it  back  on  the  shelf,  locked  the  heavy  oak  door 
and  handed  Custis  the  key. 

"I  got  annudder  key.     You  keep  dat  one,  please,  sah." 

Custis  and  Phil  left  the  old  man  more  cheerful  than  he 
had  been  for  days. 


CHAPTER   VII 

AS  the  sun  was  sinking  across  the  gray  waters  of 
the  river,  reflecting  in  its  silver  surface  a  riot  of 
purple  and  scarlet,  the  master  of  Arlington  sat  in 
thoughtful  silence  holding  the  fateful  Book  of  the  Slave 
in  his  hand.     He  had  promised  his  friend,  Edmund  Ruffin. 
to  give  him  an  answer  early  next  week  as  to   a  public 
statement. 

He  was  puzzled  as  to  his  duty.  To  his  ready  protest 
that  he  was  not  a  politician  his  friend  had  instantly  re- 
plied that  his  word  would  have  ten  times  the  weight  for 
that  reason.  So  deep  was  his  brooding  he  did  not  notice 
the  two  boys  in  a  heated  argument  at  the  corner  of  the 
house. 

Robbie  Lee  had  drawn  his  barefoot  friend,  John,  thus 
far.  He  had  balked  and  refused  to  go  farther. 

"Come  on,  John,"  Robbie  pleaded. 

"I'm  skeered." 

"Scared  of  what?" 

"Colonel  Lee." 

"Didn't  you  come  to  see  him?" 

"I  thought  I  did." 

"Well,  didn't  ye?" 

"Yes." 

"Come  on,  then !" 

"No—" 

48 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 49 

"What  you  scared  of  him  for?" 

"He's  a  great  man." 

"But  he's  my  Papa." 

"He  don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  little  boys." 

"Yes,  he  does,  too.  He  hears  everything  I've  got  to 
say  to  him." 

"Ain't  you  skeered  of  him  ?" 

"No !" 

Robbie  seized  John's  hand  again  and  before  he /could 
draw  back  dragged  him  to  his  father's  side. 

Lee  turned  the  friendliest  smile  on  John's  flushed  face 
and  won  his  confidence  before  a  word  was  spoken. 

"Well,  Robbie,  what's  your  handsome  little  friend's 
name  ?" 

"John  Doyle,  Papa." 

"Your  father  lives  on  the  farm  just  outside  our  gate, 
doesn't  he?" 

"Yessir,"  the  boy  answered  eagerly. 

His  embarrassment  had  gone.  But  it  was  hard  to  be- 
gin his  story.  It  had  seemed  easy  at  first,  the  need  was 
so  great.  Now  it  seemed  that  he  had  no  right  to  make 
the  request  he  had  in  his  heart. 

He  hung  his  head  and  dug  his  big  toe  in  the  gravel. 

Robbie  hastened  to  his  rescue. 

"John  wants  to  tell  you  something,  Papa,"  he  began 
tenderly. 

"All  right,"  Lee  cheerfully  answered  as  he  drew  one 
boy  within  each  arm  and  hugged  them  both.  "What  can 
I  do  for  you,  Johnnie?" 

"I  dunno,  sir.     I  hope  you  can  do  somethinV 

"I  will,  if  I  can.  I  like  to  do  things  for  boys.  I  was 
a  little  boy  once  myself  and  I  know  exactly  how  it  feels. 
What  is  it?" 

Again  the  child  hesitated. 


50 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Lee  studied  the  lines  of  his  finely  molded  face  and  neck 
and  throat.  A  handsomer  boy  of  ten  he  had  never  seen. 
He  pressed  his  arm  closer  and  held  him  a  moment  until 
he  looked  up  with  a  tear  glistening  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"Tell  me,  sonny—" 

"My  Ma's  been  cryin'  all  day,  sir,  and  I  want  to  do 
somethin'  to  help  her — " 

He  paused  and  his  voice  failed. 

"What  has  she  been  crying  about?" 

"We've  lost  our  home,  sir,  and  my  daddy's  drunk." 

"You've  lost  your  home?" 

"Yessir.  The  sheriff  come  this  mornin'.  And  he's  goin' 
to  put  us  out.  Ma's  most  crazy.  I  ain't  been  a  very 
good  boy  here  lately — " 

"No?" 

"No,  sir.  I've  been  runnin'  away  and  goin'  fishin' 
and  hurtin'  my  Ma's  feelin's  and  now  I  wish  I  hadn't 
done  it.  I  heard  her  sayin'  this  mornin*  while  she  wuz 
cryin',  that  you  wuz  the  only  man  she  knowed  on  earth 
who  could  help  us.  She  was  afeared  to  come  to  see  you. 
And  I  slipped  out  to  tell  ye.  I  thought  if  I  could  get 
you  to  come  to  see  us,  maybe  you  could  tell  Ma  what  to 
do  and  that  would  make  up  for  my  hurtin'  her  so  when  I 
run  away  from  my  lessons  this  week." 

The  Colonel  gently  pressed  the  boys  away  and  rose 
withi  quick  decision. 

"I'll  ride  right  up,  sonny,  and  see  your  mother." 

"Will  you,  Colonel  Lee?"  the  child  asked  with  pathetic 
eagerness. 

"Just  as  soon  as  I  can  have  my  horse  saddled." 

Lee  turned  abruptly  into  the  house  and  left  the  boy 
dazed.  He  threw  his  arms  around  Robbie,  hugged  him  in 
a  flash  and  was  gone.  Up  the  dusty  way  to  the  gate  the 
little  bare  feet  flew  to  tell  glad  tidings  to  a  lonely  woman. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 51 

She  stood  beside  the  window  looking  out  on  the  wreck  of 
her  life  in  a  stupor  of  wordless  pain.  She  saw  her  boy 
leap  the  fence  as  a  hound  and  rushed  from  the  house  in 
alarm  to  meet  him. 

He  was  breathless,  but  he  managed  to  gasp  his  message. 

"Ma — Ma — Colonel  Lee's  comin'  to  see  you !" 

"To  set  me?* 

"Yes'm.  I  toUJ  his  we*.$  iosi  otr  home  and  H€  saifc 
he'd  come  right  up.  And  he's  comin',  too — " 

The  mother  looked  into  the  child's  flushed  face,  saw  the 
love  light  in  his  eyes  and  caught  him  to  her  heart. 

"Oh,  boy,  boy,  you're  such  a  fine  young  one — my  baby 
— as  smart  as  a  whip.  You'll  beat  'em  all  some  day  and 
make  your  poor  old  mother  proud  and  happy." 

"I'm  going  to  try  now,  Ma — you  see  if  I  don't." 

"I  know  you  will,  my  son." 

"I'll  never  run  away  again.    You  see  if  I  do." 

The  boy  stopped  suddenly  at  the  sight  of  Colonel  Lee 
swiftly  approaching. 

"Run  and  wash  your  face,"  the  mother  whispered,  "and 
tell  your  brothers  to  put  on  clean  shirts.  I  want  them  to 
see  the  Colonel,  too." 

The  boy  darted  into  the  house. 

The  woman  looked  about  the  yard  to  see  if  there  were 
any  evidences  of  carelessness.  She  had  tried  to  keep  it 
clean.  The  row  of  flowers  that  flamed  in  the  beds  beside 
the  door  was  the  finest  in  the  county.  She  knew  that. 
She  was  an  expert  in  the  culture  of  the  prolific  tall  cosmos 
that  blooms  so  beautifully  in  the  Indian  summers  of  Old 
Virginia. 

A  cur  dog  barked. 

"Get  under  the  house,  sir !"  she  commanded. 

The  dog  continued  to  look  down  the  road  at  the  coin- 
ing horseman. 


52 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Get  under  the  house,  I  say — "  she  repeated  and  the 
dog  slowly  obeyed. 

She  advanced  to  meet  her  visitor.  He  hitched  his  horse 
to  a  swinging  limb  outside  the  gate  and  hurried  in. 

No  introduction  was  necessary.  The  Colonel  had  known 
her  husband  for  years  and  he  had  often  lifted  his  hat  to 
his  wife  in  passing. 

He  extended  his  hand  and  grasped  hers  in  quick  sym- 
pathy. 

"I'm  sorry  to  learn  of  your  great  misfortune  from  your 
fine  boy,  Mrs.  Doyle." 

The  woman's  eyes  filled  with  tears  in  spite  of  her  firm 
resolution  to  be  dignified. 

"He  is  a  fine — boy- — isn't  he,  Colonel?" 

"One  of  the  handsomest  little  chaps  I  ever  saw.  You 
should  be  proud  of  him." 

"I  am,  sir." 

She  drew  her  figure  a  bit  higher  instinctively.  The 
movement  was  not  lost  on  the  keen  observer  of  character. 
He  had  never  noticed  before  the  distinction  of  her  per- 
sonality. In  a  simple  calico  dress,  and  forty  years  of 
age,  she  presented  a  peculiarly  winsome  appearance.  Her 
features  were  regular,  and  well  rounded,  the  coloring  of 
cheeks  and  neck  and  hands  the  deep  pink  of  perfect  health. 
Her  eyes  were  a  bright  glowing  brown.  They  were  large, 
soulful  eyes  that  spoke  the  love  of  a  mother.  She  might 
scold  her  husband  if  provoked.  But  those  eyes  could 
never  scold  a  child.  They  could  only  love  him  -  into 
obedience  and  helpfulness.  They  were  shining  mother 
eyes. 

Lee  studied  her  in  a  quick  glance  before  speaking.  He 
knew  instinctively  that  he  could  trust  her  word. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do,  Mrs.  Doyle?" 

"Oh,  I  hope  so,  sir.    My  man's  gone  all  to  pieces  to-day. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 53 

He's  good-hearted  and  kind  if  I  do  have  to  say  it  myself. 
But  when  the  sheriff  come  to  put  us  out,  he  just  flopped 
and  quit.  And  then  he  got  drunk.  I  don't  blame  him 
much.  If  I  hadn't  been  a  woman  and  the  mother  of  three 
fine  boys  and  two  as  pretty  little  gals  as  the  Lord  ever 
give  to  a  woman,  I  reckon  I'd  a  got  drunk,  too." 

She  stopped,  overcome  with  emotion  and  Lee  hastened 
to  ask: 

"How  did  it  happen,  Mrs.  Doyle?" 

"Well,  sir,  you  see,  we  hadn't  quite  paid  for  the  place. 
You  know  it's  hard  with  a  big  family  of  children  on  a 
little  farm  o'  ten  acres.  It's  hard  to  make  a  livin*  let 
alone  save  money  to  pay  for  the  land.  But  we  wuz  doin* 
it.  We  didn't  have  but  two  more  payments  to  make  when 
my  man  signed  a  note  for  his  brother.  His  brother  got 
sick  and  couldn't  pay  and  they  come  down  on  us  and 
we're  turned  out  o'  house  and  home.  The  sheriff's  give 
us  till  Wednesday  to  get  out  and  we've  nowhere  to  go — " 

A  sob  caught  her  voice. 

"Don't  say  that,  Madame.  No  neighbor  of  mine  will 
ever  be  without  a  home  so  long  as  I  have  a  house  with  a 
roof  on  it." 

"Thank  you,  Colonel  Lee,"  she  interrupted,  "but  you 
know  I  can't  let  my  man  be  a  renter  and  see  my  husband 
and  my  sons  workin'  other  people's  land  like  nigger  slaves. 
I  got  pride.  I  jus*  can't  do  it.  I'd  rather  starve." 

"I  understand,  Madame,"  Lee  answered. 

The  two  older  boys  came  awkwardly  out  into  the  yard. 
One  of  them  was  fourteen  years  old  and  the  other  sixteen. 

The  mother  beckoned  and  they  came  to  her  with  em- 
barrassed step.  Her  face  lighted  with  pride  in  their  stal- 
wart figures  and  well-shaped,  regular  features. 

"Here's  my  oldest  boy,  William,  Colonel  Lee.'* 


54 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

The  Colonel  took  the  outstretched  hand  with  cordial 
grasp. 

"I'm  glad  to  know  you,  young  man." 

"And  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  stammered,  blushing. 

"My  next  boy  Drury,  sir.  He  ain't  but  fourteen  but 
he's  a  grown  man." 

Drury  flushed  red  but  failed  to  make  a  sound. 

When  they  had  moved  away  and  leaned  against  the 
fence  watching  the  scene  out  of  the  corner  of  an  eye,  the 
mother  turned  to  the  Colonel  and  asked: 

"Do  you  blame  me  if  I'm  proud  of  my  boys,  Colonel?" 

"I  do  not,  Madame." 

"The  Lord  made  me  a  mother.  All  I  know  is  to  raise 
fine  children  and  love  'em.  My  little  gals  is  putty  as 
dolls." 

John  suddenly  appeared  beside  her  and  pulled  her  skirt. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  whispered. 

"Pa's  waked  up.  I  told  him  Colonel  Lee's  here  and  he's 
washed  his  face  and  walks  straight.  Shall  I  fetch  him 
out,  too?" 

"Yes,  run  tell  him  to  come  quick." 

The  boy  darted  back  into  the  house. 

"Johnnie's  father  wants  to  see  you,  Colonel  Lee,"  the 
woman  apologized. 

"I'll  be  glad  to  talk  to  him,  Madame." 

"He'll  be  all  right  now.  Your  comin'  to  see  us'll  sober 
him.  He'll  be  awful  proud  of  the  honor,  sir." 

Doyle  emerged  from  the  house  and  walked  quickly  to- 
ward the  Colonel.  His  head  was  high.  He  smiled  a  wel- 
come to  his  guest  and  his  step  was  straight,  light  and 
springing,  as  if  he  were  not  quite  sure  he  could  rest  his 
full  weight  on  one  foot  and  tried  to  get  them  both  down 
at  the  same  time. 

Lee's  face  was  a  mask  of  quiet  dignity.    The  tragedy  in 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 55 

the  woman's  heart  made  the  more  pathetic  the  comedy  of 
the  half-drunken  husband.  Besides,  he  was  philosopher 
enough  to  know  that  more  than  hah*  the  drunkenness  of  the 
world  was  the  pitiful  effort  to  smother  a  heartache. 

The  man's  smile  was  a  peculiarly  winning  one.  His 
face  was  covered  with  a  full  growth  of  blond  beard  cut 
moderately  long.  He  never  shaved.  His  wife  trimmed 
his  beard  in  the  manner  most  becoming  to  the  shape  of 
his  head,  the  poise  of  his  neck  and  evenly  formed  shoul- 
ders. He  wore  his  hair  full  long  and  it  curled  about  his 
neck  in  a  deep  blond  wave.  He  might  have  posed  for  the 
model  of  Hoffman's  famous  picture  of  Christ.  His  eyes, 
a  clear  blue,  were  the  finest  feature  of  his  personality. 
In  spite  of  his  lack  of  education,  in  spite  of  his  shabby 
clothes,  in  spite  of  the  smell  of  liquor  he  was  a  person- 
ality. His  clean,  high  forehead,  his  aquiline  nose,  his 
straight  eyebrows,  his  fair  skin,  his  tall  figure  spoke  the 
heritage  of  the  great  Nordic  race  of  men.  The  race  whose 
leaders  achieved  the  civilization  of  Rome,  conquered  Eu- 
rope and  finally  dominated  civilization. 

The  difference  between  this  man  and  the  leader  who  wore 
the  uniform  of  a  Colonel  was  not  in  racial  stock.  It  was 
purely  an  accident  of  the  conditions  of  birth  and  training. 
Behind  Lee  lay  two  hundred  years  of  wealth  and  culture. 
The  poorer  man  was  his  kinsman  of  the  centuries.  The 
world  had  not  been  kind  to  him,  He  had  lost  the  way  of 
material  success.  Perhaps  some  kink  in  his  mind,  a  sense 
of  comedy,  a  touch  of  the  old  wanderlust  of  the  ages. 

Lee  wondered  what  had  kept  him  poor  as  he  looked  at 
the  figure  approaching.  It  was  straight  and  fine  in  spite 
of  the  liquor. 

Doyle's  brain  was  just  clear  enough  to  realize  that  he 
had  been  highly  honored  in  a  call  from  the  foremost  citi- 
zen of  Virginia.  His  politeness  was  extreme.  And  it  was 


56 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

true.  It  was  instinctive.  It  leaped  from  centuries  of 
racial  inheritance. 

"We're  proud  of  the  honor  you've  done  us,  Colonel 
Lee,"  he  announced. 

He  grasped  the  extended  hand  with  a  cordial,  dignified 
greeting. 

"I  only  hope  I  can  be  of  some  service  to  you  and  your 
family,  Mr.  Doyle." 

"I'm  sure  you  can,  sir.     Won't  you  come  in,  Colonel?'* 

"Thank  you,  it's  so  pleasant  outside,  we'll  just  sit  down 
by  the  well,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Yessir.    All  right,  sir." 

Lee  moved  slowly  toward  the  platform  of  the  well  with 
its  old  oaken  bucket  and  tall  sweep. 

His  wife  threw  a  warning  at  her  husband  under  her 
breath. 

"Don't  you  say  nothin'  foolish  now — " 

"I  won't." 

"Your  tongue's  too  long  when  it  gets  to  waggin'." 

"I'll  mind,  Ma,"  he  smiled. 

The  woman  called  softly  to  her  distinguished  guest : 

"You'll  excuse  me,  Colonel,  while  I  look  after  the  sup- 
per. I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

"Certainly,  Madame." 

He  could  not  have  bowed  with  graver  courtesy  to  the 
wife  of  Stephen  A.  Douglas. 

"Have  a  seat  here  on  the  well,  Colonel,"  Doyle  invited. 

Lee  took  his  seat  on  the  weather-beaten  oak  boards. 

Doyle  turned  his  foot  on  a  rounded  stone  and  set  down 
a  little  ungracefully  in  spite  of  his  effort  to  be  fully  him- 
self. He  saw  at  once  his  misstep  and  hastened  to  apolo- 
gize. 

"I'm  sorry,  Colonel,  you've  caught  me  with  the  smell  of 
liquor,  sir — " 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 57 

He  paused  and  looked  over  his  garden  in  an  embar- 
rassed way. 

"I  know  what  has  happened  to  you,  Mr.  Doyle,  and 
you  have  my  deepest  sympathy." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"I  might  have  done  the  same  thing  if  I'd  been  in  your 
position.  Though,  of  course,  liquor  won't  help  things  for 
you." 

Doyle  smiled  around  the  corners  of  his  blue  eyes. 

"No,  sir,  except  while  it's  a  swimmin'  in  the  veins. 
Then  for  a  little  while  you're  great  and  ricK  and  you  don't 
care  which  a  way  the  wind  blows." 

"The  farm  is  lost  beyond  hope  ?" 

"Yessir,  clean  gone — world  without  en<3." 

"You  had  a  lawyer?" 

"The  best  in  the  county,  old  Jim  Randolph.  I  didn't 
have  no  money  to  pay  him.  He  said  we'd  both  always 
voted  the  Whig  ticket  and  he'd  waive  his  retainer.  I 
didn't  know  what  he  was  wavin',  but  anyhow  he  tuck  my 
case.  And  I  will  say  he  put  up  a  nasty  fight  for  me.  He 
made  one  of  the  greatest  speeches  I  ever  beared  in  my 
life.  Hit  wuz  mighty  nigh  worth  losin'  the  farm  ter  hear 
him  tell  how  I'd  been  abused  and  how  fine  a  feller  I  wuz. 
An'  when  he  los'  the  case,  he  cussed  the  Judge,  he  cussed 
the  jury,  he  cussed  the  lawyers.  He  swore  they  was  all 
fools  and  didn't  know  the  first  principles  er  law  nohow.  I 
sho  enjoyed  the  fight,  ef  I  did  lose  it.  I  couldn't  pay  him 
nothin'  yet.  But  I  did  manage  to  get  him  a  gallon  of  the 
best  apple  brandy  I  ever  tasted." 

"What  do  you  think  of  doing?" 

"I  ain't  had  time  ter  think,  sir.  I  3on't  think  fast 
nohow  and  the  first  thing  I  had  to  do  when  I  come  home 
and  tole  the  ole  'ornan  and  she  bust  out  cryin' — wuz  ter 
get  drunk.  Somehow  I  couldn't  stand  it." 


58 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"You've  never  learned  a  trade?" 

"No  sir — nothin'  'cept  farmin'.  I  said  to  myself — 
what's  the  use?  These  damned  nigger  slaves  have  learned 
all  the  trades.  They  say  in  the  old  days,  they  wuz  just 
servants  in  the  house  and  stahles,  and  field  hands.  Now 
they've  learnt  all  the  trades.  They're  mechanics,  black- 
smiths, carpenters,  wagon  makers  and  everything.  What 
chance  has  a  poor  white  man  got  agin  'em?  They  don't 
have  to  worry  about  nothin'.  They  have  everything  they 
need  before  they  lift  their  hands  to  do  anything.  They 
got  plenty  to  eat  for  themselves  and  their  families,  no 
matter  how  many  children  they  have.  All  they  can  eat, 
all  they  can  wear,  a  warm  house  and  a  big  fire  in  the  win- 
ter. I  have  to  fight  and  scratch  to  keep  a  roof  over  my 
head,  wood  in  my  fireplace,  clothes  on  my  back  and  some- 
thin'  to  eat  on  my  table.  How  can  I  beat  the  slave  at  a 
trade?  Tain't  no  use  to  try.  Ef  you  want  to  build  a 
house,  your  own  carpenters  can  do  it.  And  if  you  haven't 
enough  slave  carpenters  of  your  own,  your  neighbors 
have.  They  can  hire  'em  to  you  cheaper  than  I  can  work 
and  live.  They're  goin'  to  live  anyhow.  That's  settled 
because  they're  slaves.  They're  worth  twelve  hundred  dol- 
lars apiece.  Their  life  is  precious.  Mine  don't  count.  I 
got  to  look  after  that  myself  and  I  got  to  look  after  my 
wife  and  children,  too.  Hit  ain't  right,  Colonel,  this 
Slavery  business.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  I've 
heard  you  say  it,  too — " 

"I  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Doyle.  But  if  we  set  them  all 
free  to-morrow,  and  you  had  to  compete  with  their  labor, 
you  couldn't  live  down  to  their  standard  of  wages,  could 
you?" 

"No,  I  couldn't.  They  would  kill  me  at  that  game,  too. 
That's  why  I  hate  a  free  nigger  worse  than  a  slaver—" 

He  paused  and  his  face  knotted  with  fury. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 59 

"Damn  'em  all — why  are  they  here  anyhow?" 

"Come,  come,  my  friend,"  Lee  protested.  "It  doesn't 
help  to  swear  about  it.  They  are  here.  Not  by  any  wish 
of  mine  or  of  yours.  We  inherited  this  curse  from  the 
past.  We  have  clung  to  old  delusions  while  our  smart 
Yankee  friends  have  shifted  the  responsibilities  on  others." 

"What  can  I  do,  Colonel?"  Doyle  asked  desperately. 
"I  don't  know  how  to  do  anything  but  farm.  I  can't  go 
into  the  fields  and  work  with  slaves  as  a  field  hand.  And 
I  couldn't  get  such  work  to  do  if  I'd  do  it.  I'll  die  before 
I'll  come  down  to  it.  I  might  rent  a  little  farm  alongside 
of  a  free  nigger.  But  he  can  beat  me  at  that  game.  He 
can  live  on  less  and  work  longer  hours  than  I  do.  He'll 
underbid  me  as  a  cropper.  He  can  live  and  pay  the  owner 
four-fifths  of  the  crop.  I'd  starve.  What  am  I  goin'  to 
do?" 

"Had  you  thought  of  moving  West  into  one  of  the  new 
Territories  just  opening?" 

"Yessir.  I'd  thought  of  it.  But  how  am  I  goin'  to 
get  there  with  a  wife  and  five  children?" 

Lee  rose  and  looked  about  the  place  thoughtfully 

"How  much  could  you  realize  from  the  sale  of  your 
things  ?" 

Doyle  scratched  his  head  doubtfully. 

"I  ain't  got  no  idee,  sir.  I'm  afraid  not  much.  Ye 
see  it's  just  home  stuff.  The  old  'oman's  awful  smart. 
She  raises  enough  chickens  and  turkeys  and  ducks  and 
guineas  to  eat,  and  she  sells  a  few  eggs  and  young  chick- 
ens and  turkeys  when  they  brings  anything  in  the  market. 
I  got  six  sheep,  a  cow,  a  calf,  a  mule,  a  couple  o'  pigs  in 
the  pen.  But  they  won't  bring  much!  money.  Ye  see  I 
never  felt  so  poor  ez  long  ez  I  had  a  home  where  I  Can  live 
independent  like.  That  house  ain't  much,  sir.  But  you 
ain't  no  idea  how  deep  down  in  my  heart  it's  got." 


60 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

He  paused  and  looked  at  it.  The  Colonel  followed  his 
gaze.  It  was  a  small  frame  structure  standing  in  a  yard 
filled  with  trees.  A  one-story  affair  with  a  sharp,  gabled 
attic.  Two  dormer  windows  projected  from  the  high  roof 
and  a  solid  brick  chimney  at  each  end  gave  it  dignity.  A 
narrow  porch  came  straight  out  from  the  front  door.  On 
either  side  of  the  porch  were  built  wooden  benches  and 
behind  them  on  a  lattice  grew  a  luxuriant  rambler  rose. 
It  was  still  blooming  richly  in  the  warm  September  sun. 

"Ye  see,  sir,"  Doyle  went  on,  "what  we've  got  that's 
worth  havin*  can't  be  sold.  I  love  the  smell  o'  them  roses. 
I  wake  up  in  the  night  and  the  breeze  brings  it  in  the  win- 
dow and  it  puts  me  to  sleep  like  an  old  song  my  mother 
used  to  sing  when  I  was  a  little  shaver — " 

He  stopped  short. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  snivel,  sir." 

"I  understand,  my  friend.  No  apologies  are  neces- 
sary." 

"And  that  big  scuppernong  grape  vine  out  there  in  the 
garden — I  couldn't  sell  that.  I  planted  it  fifteen  years 
ago.  Folks  told  us  we  was  too  fur  north  here  fur  it  to 
grow  good.  But  I  knowed  better.  You  can  see  its  covered 
a  place  as  big  ez  the  house.  And  you  can  smell  them  ripe 
grapes  a  hundred  yards  before  ye  get  to  the  gate.  I 
make  a  little  wine  outen  'em.  We  have  'em  to  eat  a  whole 
month.  That  garden  keeps  us  goin'  winter  and  summer. 
You  see  them  five  rows  of  flat  turnips  and  the  ruttabaggers 
beside  'em?  I've  cabbage  enough  banked  under  them  pine 
tops  to  make  a  fifty-gallon  barrel  o'  kraut  and  give  us 
cabbage  with  our  bacon  all  winter.  We've  got  turnip 
greens,  onions  and  collards.  I've  got  corn  and  wheat  in 
my  crib  and  bacon  enough  to  last  me  till  next  year.  I 
raise  the  finest  watermelons  and  mushmelons  in  the  county  » 
and  it  ain't  much  trouble  to  live  here.  I  never  knowed 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 61 

how  well  off  I  wuz  till  the  Sheriff  come  and  told  me  I  had 
to  go." 

"You're  in  the  prime  of  life.  You  can  go  to  a  new 
country  and  begin  over  again.  Why  not?" 

"If  I  could  get  there.    I  reckon  I  could." 

He  stopped  short  as  his  wife  appeared  by  his  side.  She 
had  heard  Colonel  Lee's  last  question. 

"Of  course,  you  can  begin  over  again.  Haven't  we  got 
three  of  the  finest  boys  the  Lord  ever  give  a  mother? 
They  ain't  got  no  chance  here  nohow.  My  baby  boy's  one 
o'  the  smartest  youngsters  in  the  county.  Ef  old  Andy 
Jackson  wuz  a  poor  boy  an'  got  ter  be  President,  he 
might  do  the  same  thing  ef  we  give  him  a  chance — " 

"Yes,  I  reckon  we  could,  ef  we  had  a  chance,"  Doyle 
agreed  doubtfully.  "But  it  would  be  a  hard  pull  to  leave 
my  ole  Virginy  home.  You  know  that  would  pull  you, 
Colonel — now  wouldn't  it?" 

"Yes,  it  would,"  was  the  earnest  answer. 

"You  see  I  wuz  born  in  this  country  an*  me  daddy  be- 
fore me.  I  like  it  here.  I  like  the  feel  of  the  air  in  the 
fall.  There's  a  flock  o'  ducks  now  circlin'  over  that  bend 
o*  the  river.  The  geese  are  comin'.  I  heard  'em  honk  high 
up  in  the  sky  last  night.  I  like  my  oysters  and  terrapin. 
I  like  to  shoot  ducks  and  geese,  rabbits  and  quail.  I 
like  the  smell  o'  the  water.  I  like  the  smell  o'  these  fields. 
I  like  the  way  the  sun  shines  and  the  winds  blow  down 
here.  It's  in  my  blood." 

"But  you'll  go  if  you  can  get  away,"  his  wife  inter- 
rupted cheerfully. 

Two  little  girls  timidly  drew  near.  Their  faces  were 
washed  clean  and  their  shining  blonde  hair  gleamed  in  cir- 
cles of  golden  light  as  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  caught 
it. 

Lee  smiled,  took  them  both  in  his  arms  and  kissed  them. 


62 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

A  tear  softened  his  eyes  as  he  placed  them  on  the  ground. 

"You're  darling  little  dolls.  No  wonder  your  mother 
loves  you." 

"Run  back  in  the  house  now,  honeys,"  the  mother  said. 

The  children  slowly  obeyed,  glancing  back  at  the  great 
man  who  had  kissed  them.  They  wondered  why  their 
daddy  hadn't  kissed  them  oftener. 

"What  do  you  think  we  ought  to  do,  Colonel  Lee?"  the 
woman  asked  eagerly. 

"I  can  tell  you  what  I  would  do,  Madame,  in  your 
place—" 

"What?" 

The  husband  and  wife  spoke  the  word  in  chorus. 

"I'd  go  West  and  begin  again." 

"But  how'm  I  goin'  to  get  away,  sir?"  the  man  asked 
blankly. 

"Sell  your  things  for  the  best  price  you  can  get  and 
I'll  loan  you  the  balance  of  the  money  you'll  need." 

"Will  you,  sir?"  the  woman  gasped. 

"I  ain't  got  no  security  for  ye,  Colonel — "  Doyle  pro- 
tested. 

"You  are  my  friend  and  neighbor,  Mr.  Doyle.  You're 
in  distress.  You  don't  need  security.  I'll  take  your  note, 
sir,  without  endorsement." 

"Glory  to  God !"  the  mother  cried  with  face  uplifted  in 
a  prayer  of  thanksgiving. 

Doyle  couldn't  speak  for  a  moment.  He  looked  out 
over  the  roadway  and  got  control  of  his  feelings  before 
trying.  There  was  a  lump  in  his  throat  which  made  his 
speech  thick  when  at  last  he  managed  to  grasp  Lee's 
hand. 

"I  dunno  how  to  thank  you,  sir." 

"It  will  be  all  right,  Mr.  Doyle.     Look  after  the  sale 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 63 

of  your  things  and  I'll  find  out  the  best  way  for  you  to 
get  there  and  let  you  know." 

He  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away  into  the  fading 
sunset  as  they  watched  him  through  dimmed  eyes. 


• 


CHAPTER 

LEE  had  promised  Edmund  Ruffin  his  answer  early 
in  the  week.  Ruffin  had  just  ridden  up  the  hill  and 
dismounted. 

Mrs.  Marshall,  the  Colonel's  sister,  on  a  visit  from  Bal- 
timore, fled  at  his  approach. 

"Excuse  me,  Mary,"  she  cried  to  Mrs.  Lee.  "I  just 
can't  stand  these  ranting  fire-eating  politicians.  They 
make  me  ill.  I'll  go  to  my  room." 

She  hurried  up  the  stairway  and  left  the  frail  mistress 
of  the  house  to  meet  her  formidable  guest. 

Ruffin  was  the  product  of  the  fierce  Abolition  Crusade. 
Hot-tempered,  impulsive,  intemperate  in  his  emotions  and 
their  expression,  he  was  the  perfect  counterpart  of  the 
men  who  were  working  night  and  day  in  the  North  to 
create  a  condition  of  mob  feeling  out  of  which  a  civil  con- 
flict might  grow.  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  had  set  him  on  fire 
with  new  hatreds.  His  vocabulary  of  profanity  had  been 
enlarged  by  the  addition  of  every  name  in  the  novel.  He 
had  been  compelled  to  invent  new  expressions  to  fit  these 
characters.  He  damned  them  individually  and  collec- 
tively. He  cursed  each  trait  of  each  character,  good  and 
bad.  He  cursed  the  gooo^  points  with  equal  unction  and 
equal  emphasis.  In  fact  the  good  traits  in  Mrs.  Stowe's 
people  seemed  to  carry  him  to  greater  heights  of  wrath 
and  profanity  than  the  bad  ones.  He  dissected  each  part 

64 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


of  each  character's  anatomy,  damned  each  part,  put  the 
parts  together  and  damned  the  collection.  And  then  he 
damned  the  whole  story,  characters,  plot  and  scenes  to 
the  lowest  pit  and  cursed  the  devil  for  not  building  a 
lower  one  to  which  he  might  consign  it.  And  in  a  final 
burst  of  passion  he  always  ended  by  damning  himself  for 
his  utter  inability  to  express  anything  which  he  really 
felt. 

With  all  his  ugly  language,  which  he  reserved  for  con- 
versation with  men,  he  was  the  soul  of  consideration  for 
a  woman.  Mrs.  Lee  had  no  fear  of  any  rude  expression 
from  his  lips.  She  didn't  like  him  because  she  felt  in  his 
personality  the  touch  of  mob  insanity  which  the  Slavery 
question  had  kindled.  She  dreaded  this  appeal  to  blind 
instinct  and  belief.  With  a  woman's  intuition  she  felt 
the  tragic  possibility  of  such  leadership  North  and  South. 

She  saw  his  leonine  head  and  shaggy  hair  silhouetted 
against  the  red  glow  of  the  west  with  a  shiver  at  its  sym- 
bolism, but  met  him  with  the  cordial  greeting  which  every 
Southern  woman  gave  instinctively  to  the  friend  of  her 
husband. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Ruffin,"  she  welcomed. 

He  bowed  over  her  hand  and  spoke  in  the  soft  drawl  of 
the  Southern  planter. 

"Thank  you,  Madame.  I'm  greatly  honored  in  having 
you  greet  me  at  the  door." 

"Colonel  Lee  is  expecting  you." 

The  planter  drew  himself  up  with  a  touch  of  pride  and 
importance. 

"Yes'm.  I  sent  him  word  I  would  be  here  at  three.  I 
was  detained  in  Washington.  But  I  succeeded  in  con- 
vincing the  editor  of  The  Daily  Globe  that  my  mission  was 
one  of  grave  importance.  I  not  only  desire  to  wish  Colo- 
nel Lee  God-speed  on  his  journey  to  West  Point  and  con- 


66 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

gratulate  him  on  the  honor  conferred  on  Virginia  by  his 
appointment  to  the  command  of  our  Cadets — but — " 

He  paused,  smiled  and  glanced  toward  the  portico,  as  if 
he  were  holding  back  an  important  secret. 

Mrs.  Lee  hastened  to  put  him  at  his  ease. 

"You  can  trust  my  discretion  in  any  fittle  surprise  you 
may  have  for  the  Colonel." 

Ruffin  bowed. 

"I'm  sure  I  can,  Madame.    I'm  sure  I  can." 

He  dropped  his  voice. 

"You  know  perhaps  that  I  sent  him  a  few  days  ago  a 
scurrilous  attack  on  the  South  by  a  Yankee  woman — a 
new  novel  ?" 

"He  received  it." 

"Has  he  read  it?" 

"Carefully.    He  has  read  it  twice." 

"Good !" 

The  planter  breathed  deeply,  squared  his  shoulders  and 
paced  the  floor  with  a  single  quick  turn.  He  stopped  be- 
fore Mrs.  Lee  and  spoke  in  sharp  emphasis. 

"I'm  going  to  spring  a  little  surprise  on  the  public, 
Madame!  A  sensation  that  will  startle  the  country,  and 
God  knows  we  need  a  little  shaking  just  now — " 

He  paused  and  whispered. 

"I'm  so  sure  of  what  the  Colonel  will  say  that  I've 
brought  a  reporter  from  the  Washington  Daily  Globe 
with  me — " 

Mrs.  Lee  lifted  her  hand  in  dismay. 

"He  is  here?" 

"He  is  seated  on  the  lawn  just  outside,  Madame,"  Ruf- 
fin hastened  to  reassure  her.  "I  thought  at  the  last  mo- 
ment I'd  better  have  him  wait  until  I  received  Colonel 
Lee's  consent  to  the  interview." 

"I'm  glad  you  did." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 67 

"Oh,  it  will  be  all  right,  I  assure  you !" 

"He  might  not  wish  to  see  a  reporter — " 

"So  I  told  the  young  man." 

"I'm  afraid—" 

"I'll  pave  the  way,  Madame.  I'll  pave  the  way.  Colo- 
nel Lee  and  I  are  life-long  friends.  Will  you  kindly  an- 
nounce me?" 

"The  Colonel  has  just  ridden  up  to  the  stables  to  give 
some  orders  about  his  horses.  He'll  be  here  in  a  mo- 
ment." 

Lee  stepped  briskly  into  the  room  and  extended  his 
hand. 

"It's  you,  Ruffin.  My  apologies.  I  was  called  out  to 
see  a  neighbor.  I  should  have  been  here  to  receive  you." 

"No  apologies,  Colonel,  Mrs.  Lee  has  been  most  gra- 
cious." 

The  mistress  of  the  house  smiled. 

"Make  yourself  at  home,  Mr.  Ruffin.  I  shall  hope  to 
see  you  at  dinner." 

Ruffin  stood  respectfully  until  Mrs.  Lee  had  disap- 
peared. 

"Pray  be  seated,"  Lee  invited. 

Ruffin  seated  himself  on  the  couch  and  watched  his 
host  keenly. 

Lee  took  a  cigar  from  the  mantel  and  offered  it. 

"A  cigar,  Ruffin?" 

"Thanks." 

"Now  make  yourself  entirely  at  home,  my  good  friend." 

The  planter  lighted  the  cigar,  blew  a  long  cloud  of 
smoke  and  settled  in  his  seat. 

"I'm  glad  to  learn  from  Mrs.  Lee  that  you  have  reao! 
the  book  I  sent  you — the  Abolitionist  firebrand." 

"Yes." 

Lee  quietly  walked  to  the  mantel  and  got  the  volume. 


68  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"I  have  it  here." 

He  turned  the  leaves  thoughtfully. 

Ruffin  laughed. 

"And,  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

The  Colonel  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Well,  for  those  who  like  that  kind  of  book — it's  the 
kind  of  book  they  will  like." 

"Exactly !"  Ruffin  cried,  slapping  his  knee  with  a  blow 
that  bruised  it.  "And  you're  the  man  in  all  the  South 
to  tell  the  fool  who  likes  that  sort  of  book  just  how  big 
a  fool  he  is !" 

Lee  opened  the  volume  again  and  turned  the  pages 
slowly. 

"Ruffin,  I  don't  read  many  novels — " 

He  paused  as  if  in  deep  study. 

"But  this  one  I  have  read  twice." 

"I'm  glad  you  did,  sir,"  the  planter  snapped. 

"And  I  must  confess  it  stunned  me." 

"Stunned  you?" 

"Yes." 

"How?" 

"When  I  finished  reading  it,  I  felt;  like  tHe  overgrown 
boy  who  stubbed  his  toe.  It  hurt  too  bad  to  laugh.  And 
I'm  too  big  to  cry." 

"You  amaze  me,  sir." 

"That's  the  way  I  feel,  my  friend." 

He  paused,  walked  to  the  window,  anb!  gaze3  out  at  the 
first  lights  that  began  to  flicker  in  the  windows  of  the 
Capitol  across  the  river. 

"That  book,"  he  went  on  evenly,  "is  an  appeal  to  the 
heart  of  the  world  against  Slavery.  It  is  purely  an  ap- 
peal to  sentiment,  to  the  emotions,  to  passion,  if  you  will — 
the  passions  of  the  mob  and  the  men  who  lead  mobs.  And 
it's  terrible.  As  terrible  as  an  army  with  banners.  I 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  69 

heard  the  throb  of  drums  through  its  pages.  It  will  work 
the  South  into  a  frenzy.  It  will  make  millions  of  Aboli- 
tionists in  the  North  who  could  not  be  reached  by  the 
coarser  methods  of  abuse.  It  will  prepare  the  soil  for  a 
revolution.  If  the  right  man  appears  at  the  right  moment 
with  a  lighted  torch — " 

"That's  just  why,  sir,  as  the  foremost  citizen  of  Vir- 
ginia, you  must  answer  this  slander.  I  have  brought  a 
reporter  from  the  Globe  with  me  for  that  purpose.  Shall 
I  call  him," 

"A  reporter  from  a  daily  paper  with  a  circulation  of 
fifteen  thousand?" 

"Your  word,  Colonel  Lee,  will  be  heard  at  this  moment 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  sir!" 

"In  a  newspaper  interview?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Nonsense." 

"It's  your  character  that  will  count." 

"Such  an  answer  would  be  a  straw  pitched  against  a  hur- 
ricane. I  am  told  that  this  book  has  already  reached  a 
circulation  of  half  a  million  copies  and  it  has  only  begun. 
That  means  already  three  million  readers.  To  answer  this 
book  my  pen  should  be  better  trained  than  my  sword — " 

"It  is,  sir,  if  you'll  only  use  it." 

"The  South  has  only  trained  swords.  And  not  so 
many  of  them  as  we  think.  We  have  no  writers.  We  have 
no  literature.  We  have  no  champions  in  the  forum  of 
the  world's  thought.  We  are  being  arraigned  at  the  judg- 
ment bar  of  mankind  and  we  are  dumb.  It's  appalling." 

"That's  why  you  must  speak  for  us.  Speak  in  our  de- 
fense. Speak  with  a  tongue  of  flame — " 

"I  am  not  trained  for  speech,  Ruffin.  And  the  pen  is 
mightier  than  the  sword.  I've  never  realized  it  before. 
The  South  will  soon  have  the  civilized  world  arraigned 


70 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

against  her.  The  North  with  a  thousand  pens  is  stirring 
the  faiths,  the  prejudices  and  the  sentiments  of  the  mil- 
lions. This  appeal  is  made  in  the  face  of  History,  Reason 
and  Law.  But  its  force  will  be  as  the  gravitation  of  the 
earth,  beyond  the  power  of  resistance,  unless  we  can  check 
it  in  time." 

"When  it  comes  to  resistance,"  Ruffin  snapped,  "that's 
another  question.  The  Yankees  are  a  race  of  damned 
cowards  and  poltroons,  sir.  They  won't  fight." 

Lee  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"I've  been  in  the  service  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury, my  friend.  I've  seen  a  lot  of  Yankees  under  fire. 
I've  seen  a  lot  of  them  die.  And  I  know  better.  Your 
idea  of  a  Yankee  is  about  as  correct  as  the  Northern 
notion  of  Southern  fighters.  A  notion  they're  beginning 
to  exploit  in  cartoons  which  show  an  effeminate  lady  killer 
with  an  umbrella  stuck  in  the  end  of  his  musket  and  a 
negro  mixing  mint  juleps  for  him." 

"We've  got  to  denounce  those  slanders.  I'm  a  man  of 
cool  judgment  and  I  never  lose  my  temper — " 

He  leaped  to  his  feet  purple  with  rage. 

"But,  by  God,  sir,  we  can't  sit  quietly  under  the  assault 
of  these  narrow-minded  bigots.  You  must  give  the  lie  to 
this  infamous  book!" 

"How  can  I,  my  friend?" 

"Doesn't  she  make  heroes  of  law  breakers?" 

"Surely." 

"Is  there  no  reverence  for  law  left  in  this  country  ?" 

"In  Courts  of  Justice,  yes.  But  not  in  the  courts  of 
passion,  prejudice,  beliefs,  sentiment.  The  writers  of  sen- 
timent sing  the  praises  of  law  breakers — " 

"But  there  can  be  no  question  of  the  right  or  wrong  of 
this  book.  It  is  an  infamous  slander.  I  deny  and  im- 
peach it!" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 71 

"I'm  afraid  that's  all  we  can  do,  Ruffin — deny  and  im- 
peach it.  When  we  come  down  to  brass  tacks  we  can't 
answer  it.  From  their  standpoint  the  North  is  right. 
From  our  standpoint  we  are  right,  because  our  rights  are 
clear  under  the  Constitution.  Slavery  is  not  a  Southern 
institution;  it  is  a  national  inheritance.  It  is  a  national 
calamity.  It  was  written  into  the  Constitution  by  all  the 
States,  North  and  South.  And  if  the  North  is  ignorant 
of  our  rights  under  the  laws  of  our  fathers,  we  have  failed 
to  enlighten  them — " 

"We  won't  be  dictated  to,  sir,  by  a  lot  of  fanatics  and 
hypocrites." 

"Exactly,  we  stand  on  our  dignity.  We  deny  and  we 
are  ready  to  fight.  But  we  will  not  argue.  As  an  abstract 
proposition  in  ethics  or  economics,  Slavery  does  not  admit 
of  argument.  It  is  a  curse.  It's  on  us  and  we  can't  throw 
it  off  at  once.  My  quarrel  with  the  North  is  that  they  do 
not  give  us  their  sympathy  and  their  help  in  our  dilemma. 
Instead  they  rave  and  denounce  and  insult  us.  They  are 
even  more  responsible  than  we  for  the  existence  of  Slav- 
ery, since  their  ships,  not  ours,  brought  the  negro  to  our 
shores.  Slavery  is  an  outgrown  economic  folly,  a  bar  to 
progress,  a  political  and  social  curse  to  the  white  race. 
It  must  die  of  its  own  weakness,  South,  as  it  died  of  its  own 
weakness,  North.  It  is  now  in  the  process  of  dying.  The 
South  has  freed  over  three  hundred  thousand  slaves  by 
the  voluntary  act  of  the  master.  If  these  appeals  of  the 
mob  leader  to  the  spirit  of  the  mob  can  be  stopped,  a 
solution  will  be  found." 

"It  will  never  be  found  in  the  ravings  of  Abolitionists." 

"Nor  in  the  hot  tempers  of  our  Southern  partisans, 
Ruffin.  Look  in  the  mirror,  my  good  friend.  Chattel 
Slavery  is  doomed  because  of  the  superior  efficiency  of  the 
wage  system.  Morals  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The 


72 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Captain  of  Industry  abolished  Chattel  Slavery  in  the 
North,  not  the  preacher  or  the  agitator.  He  established 
the  wage  system  in  its  place  because  it  is  a  mightier 
weapon  in  his  hand.  It  is  subject  to  but  one  law.  The 
iron  law  of  supply  and  demand.  Labor  is  a  commodity  to 
be  bought  and  sold  to  the  highest  bidder.  And  the  high- 
est bidder  is  at  liberty  to  bid  lower  than  the  price  of 
bread,  clothes,  fuel  and  shelter,  if  he  chooses.  This  sys- 
tem is  now  moving  Southward  like  a  glacier  from  the 
frozen  heart  of  the  Northern  mountains,  eating  all  in  its 
path.  It  is  creeping  over  Maryland,  Kentucky,  Mis- 
souri. It  will  slowly  engulf  Virginia,  North  Carolina  and 
Tennessee  and  the  end  is  sure.  Its  propelling  force  is  not 
moral.  It  is  soulless.  It  is  purely  economic.  The  wage 
earner,  driven  by  hunger  and  cold,  by  the  fear  of  the  loss 
of  life  itself — is  more  efficient  in  his  toil  than  the  care-free 
negro  slave  of  the  South,  who  is  assured  of  bread,  of 
clothes,  of  fuel  and  shelter,  with  or  without  work.  Slavery 
does  not  admit  of  argument,  my  friend.  To  argue  about 
it  is  to  destroy  it." 

"I  disagree  with  you,  sir !"  Ruffin  thundered. 

"I  know  you  do.    But  you  can't  answer  this  book." 

"It  can  be  answered,  sir." 

Lee  paced  the  floor,  his  arms  folded  behind  his  back, 
paused  and  watched  Ruffin's  flushed  face.  He  shook  his 
head  again. 

"The  book  is  unanswerable,  because  it  is  an  appeal  to 
emotion  based  on  a  study  of  Slavery  in  the  abstract.  If 
no  allowance  be  made  for  the  tender  and  humane  character 
of  the  Southern  people  or  the  modification  of  statutory 
law  by  the  growth  of  public  sentiment,  its  imaginary 
scenes  are  within  the  bounds  of  the  probable.  The  story 
is  crude,  but  it  is  told  with  singular  power  without  a  trace 
of  bitterness.  The  blind  ferocity  of  Garrison,  who  sees  in 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 73 

every  slaveholder  a  fiend,  nowhere  appears  in  its  pages. 
On  the  other  hand,  Mrs.  Stowe  has  painted  one  slave- 
holder as  gentle  and  generous.  Simon  Legree,  her  villain, 
is  a  Yankee  who  has  moved  South  and  taken  advantage 
of  the  power  of  a  master  to  work  evil.  Such  men  have 
come  South.  Such  things  might  be  done.  It  is  precisely 
this  possibility  that  makes  Slavery  indefensible.  You 
know  this.  And  I  know  it." 

"You  astound  me,  Colonel." 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  I  do.  I'd  like  to  speak  a  message  to 
the  South  about  this  book.  I've  a  great  deal  more  to  say 
to  my  own  people  than  to  our  critics." 

Ruffin  rose,  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  walked  to 
the  window,  turned  suddenly  and  faced  his  host. 

"But  look  here,  Colonel  Lee,  I'm  damned  if  I  can  agree 
with  you,  sir!  Suppose  Slavery  is  wrong — an  economic 
fallacy  and  a  social  evil — I  don't  say  it  is,  mind  you. 
Just  suppose  for  the  sake  of  argument  that  it  is.  We 
don't  propose  to  be  lectured  on  this  subject  by  our  in- 
feriors in  the  North.  The  children  of  the  men  who  stole 
these  slaves  from  Africa  and  sold  them  to  us  at  a  profit !" 

Lee  laughed  softly. 

"The  sins  of  an  inferior  cannot  excuse  the  mistakes  of 
a  superior.  The  man  of  superior  culture  and  breeding 
should  lead  the  world  in  progress.  What  has  come  over  us 
in  the  South,  Ruffin?  Your  father  and  mine  never  de- 
fended Slavery.  They  knew  it  was  to  them,  their  children 
and  this  land,  a  curse.  It  was  a  blessing  only  to  the  sav- 
age who  was  being  taught  the  rudiments  of  civilization  at 
a  tremendous  cost  to  his  teacher.  The  first  Abolition  So- 
cieties were  organized  in  the  South.  Washington,  Jeffer- 
son, Madison,  Monroe,  Randolph,  all  the  great  leaders  of 
the  old  South,  the  men  whose  genius  created  this  republic 
: — all  denounced  Slavery.  They  told  us  that  it  is  a  poison, 


74 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

breeding  pride  and  tyranny  of  character,  that  it  corrupts 
the  mind  of  the  child,  that  it  degrades  labor,  wears  out 
our  land,  destroys  invention,  and  saps  our  ideal  of  liberty. 
And  yet  we  have  begun  to  defend  it." 

"Because  we  are  being  hounded,  traduced  and  insulted 
by  the  North,  yes — " 

"Yes,  but  also  because  we  must  have  more  land." 

"We've  as  much  right  in  the  West  as  the  North." 

"That's  not  the  real  reason  we  demand  the  right  of 
entry.  We  are  exhausting  the  soil  of  the  South  by  our 
slipshod  farming  on  great  plantations  where  we  use  old- 
fashioned  tools  and  slave  labor.  We  refuse  to  study  his- 
tory. Ancient  empires  tried  this  system  and  died.  The 
Carthagenians  developed  it  to  perfection  and  fell  before 
the  Romans.  The  Romans  borrowed  it  from  Carthage. 
It  destroyed  the  small  farms  and  drove  out  the  individual 
land  owners.  It  destroyed  respect  for  trades  and  crafts. 
It  strangled  the  development  of  industrial  art.  And  when 
the  test  came  Roman  civilization  passed.  You  hot-heads 
under  the  goading  of  Abolition  crusaders  now  blindly  pro- 
pose to  build  the  whole  structure  of  Southern  Society  on 
this  system." 

"We've  no  choice,  sir." 

"Then  we  must  find  one.  Slowly  but  surely  the  clouds 
gather  for  the  storm.  We  catch  only  the  first  rumblings 
now  but  it's  coming." 

Ruffin  flared. 

"Now  listen  to  me,  Colonel.  I'm  a  man  of  cool  judg- 
ment and  I  never  lose  my  temper,  sir — " 

He  choked  with  passion,  recovered  and  rushed  on. 

"If  they  ever  dare  attack  us,  we  won't  need  writers. 
We'll  draw  our  swords  and  thrash  them!  The  South  is 
growing  rich  and  powerful." 

Lee  lifted  his  hand  in  a  quick  gesture  of  protest. 


75 


"A  popular  delusion,  my  friend.  Under  Slave  labor  the 
South  is  growing  poorer  daily.  While  the  Northern 
States,  under  the  wage  system,  ten  times  more  efficient, 
are  draining  the  blood  and  treasure  of  Europe  and  grow- 
ing richer  by  leaps  and  bounds.  Norfolk,  Richmond  and 
Charleston  should  have  been  the  great  cities  of  the  Eastern 
Seaboard.  They  are  as  yet  unimportant  towns  in  the 
world  commerce.  Boston,  Philadelphia  and  New  York 
have  become  the  centers  of  our  business  life,  of  our  trade, 
our  culture,  our  national  power.  While  slavery  is  scratch- 
ing the  surface  of  our  soil  with  old-fashioned  plows,  while 
we  quit  work  at  twelve  o'clock  every  Saturday,  spend  our 
Sundays  at  church,  and  set  two  negroes  to  help  one  do 
nothing  Monday  morning,  the  North  is  sweeping  onward 
in  the  science  of  agriculture.  While  they  invent  machines 
which  double  their  crops,  cut  their  labor  down  a  hundred 
per  cent,  we  are  fighting  for  new  lands  in  the  West  to 
exhaust  by  our  primitive  methods.  The  treasures  of  the 
earth  yet  lie  in  our  mines  untouched  by  pick  or  spade. 
Our  forests  stand  unbroken — vast  reaches  of  wilderness. 
The  slave  is  slow  and  wasteful.  Wage  labor,  quick,  effi- 
cient. Our  chief  industry  is  the  breeding  of  a  race  of 
feverish  politicians." 

"You  know,  Colonel  Lee,  as  well  as  I  do  that  Slavery  in 
the  South  has  been  a  blessing  to  the  negro." 

Lee  moved  his  head  in  quick  assent. 

"I  admit  that  Slavery  took  the  negro  from  the  jungle, 
from  a  slavery  the  most  cruel  known  to  human  history, 
that  it  has  taught  him  the  use  of  tools,  the  science  of  agri- 
culture, the  worship  of  God,  the  first  lessons  in  the  alpha- 
bet of  humanity.  But  unless  we  can  now  close  this  school, 
my  friend,  somebody  is  going  to  try  to  divide  this  Union 
some  day — " 

Ruffin  struck  his  hands  together  savagely. 


76 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"The  quicker  the  better,  I  say !  If  the  children  of  the 
men  who  created  this  republic  are  denied  equal  rights  under 
its  laws  and  in  its  Territories,  then  I  say,  to  your  tents, 
oh,  Israel!" 

"And  do  you  know  what  that  may  mean?" 

"A  Southern  and  a  Northern  Nation.    Let  them  come !" 

"The  States  have  been  knit  together  slowly,  but  inevi- 
tably by  steam  and  electricity.  I  can  conceive  of  no 
greater  tragedy  than  an  attempt  to-day  to  divide  them." 

"I  can  conceive  of  no  greater  blessing!"  Ruffin  fairly 
shouted. 

"So  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  the  leader  of  Abolition, 
is  saying  in  his  paper  The  Liberator.  And,  Ruffin,  unless 
we  can  lock  up  some  hot-heads  in  the  South  and  such 
fanatics  as  Garrison  in  the  North,  the  mob,  not  the  states- 
man, is  going  to  determine  the  laws  and  the  policy  of  this 
country.  Somebody  will  try  to  divide  the  Union.  And 
then  comes  the  deluge !  When  I  think  of  it,  the  words 
of  Thomas  Jefferson  ring  through  my  soul  like  an  alarm 
bell  in  the  night.  'I  tremble  for  my  country  when  I  reflect 
that  God  is  just  and  that  His  justice  cannot  sleep  for- 
ever. Nothing  is  more  certainly  written  in  the  book  of 
fate  than  these  black  people  shall  be  free — ' ': 

Ruffin  lifted  his  hand  in  a  commanding  gesture. 

"Don't  omit  his  next  sentence,  sir — 'nor  is  it  less  certain, 
that  the  two  races,  equally  free,  cannot  live  under  the  same 
government — '  " 

"Exactly,"  Lee  answered  solemnly.  "And  that  is  the 
only  reason  why  I  have  ever  allowed  myself  to  own  a  slave 
for  a  moment — the  insoluble  problem  of  what  to  do  with 
him  when  freed.  The  one  excuse  for  Slavery  which  the 
South  can  plead  without  fear  before  the  judgment  bar  of 
God  is  the  blacker  problem  which  their  emancipation  will 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 77 

create.  Unless  it  can  be  brought  about  in  a  miracle  of 
patience,  wisdom  and  prayer." 

He  paused  and  smiled  at  Ruffin's  forlorn  expression. 

"Will  you  call  your  reporter  now  to  take  my  views  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  the  planter  growled.  "I've  changed  my 
mind." 

The  Colonel  laughed  softly. 

"I  thought  you  might." 

Ruffin  gazed  in  silence  through  the  window  at  the  blink- 
ing lights  in  Washington,  turned  and  looked  moodily  at 
his  calm  host.  He  spoke  in  a  slow,  dreamy  monotone,  his 
eyes  on  space  seeing  nothing: 

"Colonel  Lee,  this  country  is  hell  bent  and  hell  bound. 
I  can  see  no  hope  for  it." 

Lee  lifted  his  head  with  firm  faith. 

"Ruffin,  this  country  is  in  God's  hands — and  He  will 
do  what's  right — " 

"That's  just  what  I'm  afraid,  sir !"  Ruffin  mused.  "Oh, 
no — I — don't  mean  that  exactly.  I  mean  that  we  must 
anticipate — " 

"The  wisdom  of  God?" 

"That  we  must  prepare  to  meet  our  enemies,  sir." 

"I  agree  with  you.  And  I'm  going  to  do  it.  I've  been 
doing  a  lot  of  thinking  and  soul  searching  since  you  gave 
me  this  troublesome  book  to  read — " 

He  stopped  short,  rose  and  drew  the  old-fashioned  bell 
cord. 

Ben  appeared  in  full  blue  cloth  and  brass  buttons,  on 
duty  again  as  butler. 

"Yassah— " 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Ben.  You're  feeling  yourself 
again  ?" 

"Yassah.  Praise  God,  I'se  back  at  my  place  once  mo', 
sah." 


78 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

The  master  lifted  his  hand  in  warning. 

"Take  care  of  yourself  now.  No  more  risks.  You're 
not  as  young  as  you  once  were." 

"Thankee,  sah." 

"Ask  Mrs.  Lee  to  bring  me  the  document  on  my  desk. 
Find  Sam  and  fetch  him  here." 

Ben  bowed. 

"Yassah.     Right  away,  sah." 

Lee  turned  to  his  guest  genially. 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  witness  what  I'm  about  to  do, 
Ruffin.  And  you  mustn't  take  offense.  We  differ  about 
Slavery  and  politics  in  the  abstract,  but  whatever  our  dif- 
ferences on  the  surface,  you  are  an  old  Virginia  planter 
and  I  trust  we  shall  always  be  friends." 

The  two  men  clasped  hands  and  Ruffin  spoke  with  deep 
emotion. 

"I  am  honored  in  your  friendship,  Colonel  Lee.     How- 
ever I  may  differ  with  you  about  the  Union,  we  agree  on 
one  thing,  that  the  old  Dominion  is  the  noblest  state  on 
which  the  sun  has  ever  shown!" 
r  Lee  closed  his  eyes  as  if  in  prayer. 

"On  that  we  are  one.  Old  Virginia,  the  mother  of  Presi- 
dents and  of  states,  as  I  leave  her  soil  I  humbly  pray  that 
God's  blessings  may  ever  rest  upon  her!" 

"So  say  I,  sir,"  Ruffin  responded  heartily.  "And  I'll 
try  to  do  the  cussin'  for  her  while  you  do  the  praying." 

Mrs.  Lee  entered  and  handed  to  her  husband  a  folded 
document,  as  Ben  came  from  the  kitchen  with  Sam,  who 
bowed  and  grinned  to  every  one  in  the  room. 

Lee  spoke  in  low  tones  to  his  wife. 

"Ask  the  young  people  to  come  in  for  a  moment,  my 
dear." 

Mrs.  Lee  crossed  quickly  to  the  library  door  and  called : 

"Come  in,  children,  Colonel  Lee  wishes  to  see  you  all." 


Mary,  Stuart,  Custis,  Phil,  Robbie  and  Sid  pressed  into 
the  hall  in  curious,  expectant  mood.  Mrs.  Marshall  knew 
that  Ruffin  was  still  there,  but  her  curiosity  got  the  better 
of  her  aversion.  She  followed  the  children,  only  to  run 
squarely  into  Ruffin. 

He  was  about  to  speak  in  his  politest  manner  when  she 
stiffened  and  passed  him. 

Ruffin's  eye  twinkled.  He  knew  that  she  saw  him.  She 
hated  him  for  his  political  views.  She  also  knew  that  he 
hated  her  husband,  Judge  Marshall,  with  equal  cordiality. 
His  pride  was  too  great  to  feel  the  slightest  hurt  at  her 
attempt  to  ignore  him.  She  was  a  fanatic  on  the  subject 
of  the  Union.  All  right,  he  was  a  fanatic  on  the  idea  of 
an  independent  South.  They  were  even.  Let  it  be  so. 

With  a  toss  of  his  head,  he  turned  toward  Lee  who  had 
seated  himself  at  the  table  behind  the  couch. 

The  children  were  chatting  and  laughing  as  they  en- 
tered. A  sudden  hush  fell  on  them  as  they  caught  the 
serious  look  on  the  Colonel's  face.  He  was  writing  rap- 
idly. He  stopped  and  fixed  a  seal  on  the  paper  which  he 
held  in  his  hand.  He  read  it  carefully,  lifted  his  eyes  to 
the  group  that  had  drawn  near  and  said : 

"Children,  my  good  friend,  Mr.  Ruffin,  has  called  to-day 
to  bid  us  God-speed  on  our  journey  North.  And  he  has 
asked  me  to  answer  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.  I've  called  you 
to  witness  the  only  answer  I  know  how  to  make  at  this 
moment." 

He  paused  and  turned  toward  Sam. 

"Come  here,  Sam." 

The  young  negro  rolled  his  eyes  in  excited  wonder  about 
the  room  and  laughed  softly  at  nothing  as  he  approached 
the  table. 

"Yassah,  Marse  Robert." 

"How  old  are  you,  Sam?" 


80 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Des  twenty,  sah." 

"I  had  meant  to  wait  until  you  were  twenty-one  for 
this,  but  I  have  decided  to  act  to-day.  You  will  arrange 
to  leave  here  and  go  with  us  as  far  as  New  York." 

The  negro  bowed  gratefully. 

"Yassah,  thankee  sah,  I  sho  did  want  ter  go  norf  wid 
you,  sah,  but  I  hated  to-  axe  ye." 

Lee  handed  Sam  the  document. 

"You  will  go  with  me  a  free  man,  my  boy.  You  are 
the  only  slave  I  yet  hold  in  my  own  right.  I  have  just 
given  you  your  deed  of  emancipation.  From  this  hour 
you  are  your  own  master.  May  God  bless  you  and  keep 
you  in  health  and  strength  and  give  you  long  life  and 
much  happiness." 

Sam  stared  at  the  paper  and  then  at  the  kindly  eyes 
of  his  old  master.  A  sob  caught  his  voice  as  he  stam- 
mered: 

"May  God  bless  you,  Marse  Robert — " 

Ben  lifted  his  hands  in  benediction  and  his  voice  rang 
in  the  solemn  cadence  of  the  prophet  and  seer : 

"And  let  the  glory  of  His  face  shine  upon  him  for- 
ever !" 

Mrs.  Marshall  stooped  and  kissed  her  'brother. 

"You're  a  true  son  of  Virginia,  Robert,  in  this  beauti- 
ful answer  you  make  to-day  to  all  our  enemies." 

She  rose  and  faced  Ruffin  with  square  antagonism. 

Lee  turned  to  the  old  butler. 

"And  Ben,  tell  all  our  servants  of  the  estate  that,  under 
the  will  of  Mrs.  Lee's  father  I  will  in  due  time  set  them 
free.  I  would  do  so  to-day  if  the  will  had  not  fixed  the 
date." 

Ben  bowed  gravely. 

"I'se  proud  to  be  your  servant,  Marse  Robert   and 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  81 

Missis,  and  when  my  freedom  comes  frum  yo'  hands,  I'll 
be  prouder  still  to  serve  you  always." 

With  head  erect  Ben  proudly  led  the  dazed  young1  freed- 
man  from  the  hall  to  the  kitchen  where  his  reception  was 
one  of  mixed  wonder  and  pity. 

There  fell  a  moment's  awkward  silence,  broken  at  last 
by  Stuart's  clear,  boyish  voice.  He  saw  Ruffin's  embar- 
rassment. He  knew  the  man's  fiery  temper  and  wondered 
at  his  restraint. 

"Well,  Mr.  Ruffin,"  Stuart  began,  "we  may  not  see  as 
clearly  as  Colonel  Lee  to-day,  but  he's  my  commander, 
sir,  and  I'll  say  he's  right." 

Ruffin  faced  Lee  with  a  look  of  uncompromising  antago- 
nism and  fairly  shot  his  words. 

"And  for  the  millions  of  the  South,  I  say  he's  wrong. 
There's  a  time  for  all  things.  And  this  is  not  the  time 
for  such  an  act.  From  the  appearance  of  this  book  you 
can  rest  assured  the  emancipation  of  slaves  in  the  South 
will  cease.  We  will  never  be  bullied  into  freeing  our  slaves 
by  slander  and  insult.  Colonel  Lee's  example  will  not  be 
followed.  The  fanatics  of  the  North  have  begun  to  spit 
on  our  faces.  There's  but  one  answer  to  an  insult — and 
that's  a  blow!" 

Lee  stepped  close  to  the  planter,  laid  one  hand  gently 
on  his  shoulder,  searched  his  angry  eyes  for  a  moment 
and  slowly  said : 

"And  thrice  is  he  armed,  my  friend,  who  hath  his  quar- 
rel just.  I  set  my  house  in  order  before  the  first  blow 
falls." 

Ruffin  smiled  and  threw  off  the  ugly  strain. 

"I'm  sorry,   sir,"   he   said  with  friendly   indifference, 
"that  my  mission  has  been  a  failure." 
"And  I'm  sorry  we  can't  agree." 


82 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"I  won't  be  able  to  stay  to  dinner,  Mrs.  Lee,  and  I  bid 
you  all  good  evening." 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  in  a  gesture  behind 
which  lurked  the  tingling  of  taut  nerves,  he  turned  and 
left. 

The  beat  of  his  horse's  hoof  echoed  down  the  road  with 
a  sharp,  angry  crack. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON  Sunday  the  whole  plantation  went  to  Church. 
The  negroes  sat  in  the  gallery  and  listened  with 
rapt  attention  to  the  service.       They  joined  its 
ritual  and  its  songs  with  their  white  folks  in  equal  sin- 
cerity and  more  profound  emotion. 

At  the  crossroads  the  stream  of  carriages,  carts  and 
buggies  and  horseback  riders  parted.  To  the  right,  the 
way  led  to  the  Episcopal  Church,  the  old  English  estab- 
lishment of  the  State,  long  since  separated  from  secular 
authority,  yet  still  bearing  the  seal  of  county  aristocracy. 
Colonel  Lee  was  a  devout  member  of  this  church.  Mrs. 
Lee  was  the  inspiration  of  its  charities  and  the  soul  of  its 
activities. 

A  few  of  the  negroes  of  the  estate  attended  it  with  the 
master  and  mistress  of  Arlington.  By  far  the  larger  num- 
ber turned  to  the  left  at  the  cross  roads  and  found  their 
way  to  the  Antioch  Baptist  Church.  The  simplicity  of 
its  service,  the  fervor  of  its  singing,  and  above  all  the 
emotional  call  of  its  revivals  which  swept  the  country  each 
summer  appealed  to  the  warm-hearted  Africans.  They 
took  to  the  Baptist  and  Methodist  churches  as  ducks  to 
water.  The  master  made  no  objection  to  the  exercise  of 
their  right  to  worship  God  as  their  consciences  called. 
He  encouraged  their  own  preachers  to  hold  weekly  prayer 

83 


84 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

meetings  and  exhort  his  people  in  the  assembling  places 
of  the  servants. 

Nor  did  he  object  to  the  dance  which  Sam,  who  was  an 
Episcopalian,  invariably  organized  on  the  nights  follow- 
ing prayer  and  exhortation. 

This  last  Sunday  was  one  of  tender  farewells  to  friends 
and  neighbors.  They  crowded  about  the  Colonel  after 
the  services.  They  wished  him  health  and  happiness  and 
success  in  his  new  work. 

The  last  greeting  he  got  from  an  old  bent  neighbor  of 
ninety  years.  It  brought  a  cloud  to  his  brow.  All  day 
and  into  the  night  the  thought  persisted  and  its  shadow 
chilled  the  hours  of  his  departure.  James  Nelson  was  his 
name,  of  the  ancient  family  of  the  Nelsons  of  Yorktown. 

He  held  Lee's  hand  a  long  time  and  blinked  at  him  with 
a  pair  of  keen,  piercing  eyes — keen  from  a  spiritual  light 
that  burned  within.  He  spoke  in  painful  deliberation  as 
if  he  were  translating  a  message. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  West  Point,  Colonel  Lee. 
You  will  have  time  for  thinking.  You  will  have  time  to 
study  the  art  of  war  as  great  minds  must  study  it  alone 
if  they  lead  armies  to  victory.  Generals  are  not  developed 
in  the  saddle  on  our  plains  fighting  savages.  Our  coun- 
try is  going  to  need  a  leader  of  supreme  genius.  I  saw 
him  in  a  vision,  the  night  I  read  in  the  Richmond  Enquirer 
that  you  had  been  called  to  West  Point.  I  shall  not  see 
you  again.  I  am  walking  now  into  the  sunset.  Soon 
the  shadows  will  enfold  me  and  I  shall  sleep  the  long  sleep. 
I  am  content.  I  have  lived.  I  have  loved.  I  have  suc- 
ceeded and  failed.  I  have  swept  the  gamut  of  human  pas- 
sion and  human  emotion.  I  have  no  right  to  more.  Yet 
I  envy  you  the  glory  of  manhood  in  the  crisis  that  is  com- 
ing. May  the  God  of  our  fathers  keep  you  and  teach  you 
and  bless  you  is  my  prayer." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 85 

Lee  was  too  deeply  moved  for  words  to  reply.  He 
pressed  his  old  friend's  hand,  held  it  in  silence  and  turned 
away. 

The  young  people  rode  horseback.  Never  in  his  life 
had  Phil  seen  anything  to  equal  the  easy  grace  with  whicK 
these  Southern  girls  sat  their  horses.  Their  mothers  be- 
fore them  had  been  born  in  the  saddle.  Their  ease,  their 
grace  was  not  an  acquirement  of  the  teacher.  It  was 
bred  in  the  bone. 

When  a  boy  challenged  a  girl  for  a  race,  the  challenge 
was  instantly  accepted.  Their  saddles  were  made  of  the 
finest  leather  which  the  best  saddle  makers  of  Englanii 
and  America  could  find.  Their  girths  were  set  with  double 
silver  buckles.  A  saddle  never  turned. 

When  the  long  procession  reached  the  gates  of  Arling- 
ton, it  seemed  to  Phil  that  half  the  congregation  were  go- 
ing to  stop  for  dinner.  A  large  part  of  them  did.  Every 
friend  and  neighbor  who  pressed  Colonel  Lee's  hand,  or 
the  hand  of  his  wife,  had  been  invited. 

When  they  reached  the  Hall  and  Library  to  talk,  their 
conversation  covered  a  wide  range  of  interest.  The  one 
topic  tabooed  was  scandal.  It  might  be  whispered  behind 
closed  doors.  It  was  never  the  subject  of  conversation  in 
an  assembly  of  friends  and  neighbors  in  the  home.  They 
talked  of  the  rich  harvest.  They  discussed  the  changes 
in  the  fortunes  of  their  mutual  friends.  They  had  begun 
to  demand  better  roads.  They  discusseb!  the  affairs  of 
the  County,  the  Church,  the  State.  The  ladies  chatted  of 
fashions,  of  course.  But  they  also  discussed  the  latest 
novels  of  George  Eliot  with  keen  interest  and  true  insight 
into  their  significance  in  the  development  of  English  litera- 
ture. They  kn»w  their  Dickens,  Thackeray  and  Scott  al- 
most by  heart — especially  Scott.  They  expressed  their 
opinions  of  the  daring  work  of  the  new  author  with  en- 


86         .        THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

thusiasm.  Some  approved ;  others  had  doubts.  They  did 
not  yet  know  that  George  Eliot  was  a  woman. 

The  chief  topic  of  conversation  among  the  men  was 
politics,  State  and  National.  The  problems  of  the  British 
Empire  came  in  for  a  share  of  the  discussion.  These  men 
not  only  read  Burke  and  Hume,  Dickens  and  Scott,  they 
read  the  newspapers  of  England  and  they  kept  up  with 
the  program  of  English  political  parties  as  their  fathers 
had.  And  they  quoted  their  opinions  as  authority  for  a 
younger  generation.  On  the  shelves  of  the  library  could 
be  seen  the  classics  in  sober  bindings  and  sprinkled  with 
them  a  few  French  authors  of  distinction. 

Over  all  brooded  the  spirit  of  a  sincere  hospitality, 
gentle,  cordial,  simple,  generous.  They  did  not  merely 
possess  homes,  they  loved  their  homes.  The  two  largest 
words  in  the  tongue  which  they  spoke  were  Duty  and 
Honor.  They  were  not  in  a  hurry.  The  race  for  wealth 
had  never  interested  them.  They  took  time  to  play,  to 
rest,  to  worship  God,  to  chat  with  their  neighbors,  to 
enjoy  a  sunset.  They  came  of  a  race  of  world-conquering 
men  and  they  felt  no  necessity  for  hurrying  or  apologiz- 
ing for  their  birthright. 

It  was  precisely  this  attitude  of  mind  which  made  the 
savage  attack  of  the  Abolitionists  so  far-reaching  in  its 
possible  results. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  morning  of  the  departure  dawned  with  an  over- 
cast sky,  the  prophecy  of  winter  in  the  gray  clouds 
that  hung  over  the  surface  of  the  river.  A  chill 
mist,  damp  and  penetrating,  crept  up  the  heights  from 
the  water's  edge  and  veiled  the  city  from  view. 

Something  in  the  raw  air  bruised  afresh  the  thought  of 
goodbye  to  the  Southland.  The  threat  of  cold  in  Vir- 
ginia meant  the  piling  of  ice  and  snow  in  the  North.  Not 
a  sparrow  chirped  in  the  hedges.  Only  a  crow,  passing 
high  in  the  dull  sky,  called  his  defiance  of  wind  and 
weather. 

The  Colonel  made  his  final  round  of  inspection  to  see 
that  his  people  were  provided  against  the  winter.  Behind 
each  servant's  cottage,  a  huge  pile  of  wood  was  stacked. 
The  roofs  were  in  perfect  order.  The  chimneys  were 
pouring  columns  of  smoke.  It  hung  low  at  first  but 
rolled  away  at  the  touch  of  the  breeze  from  the  North. 

With  Mrs.  Lee  he  visited  the  aged  and  the  sick.  The 
thing  that  brought  the  smile  to  each  withered  mouth  was 
the  assurance  of  their  love  and  care  always. 

Among  the  servants  Sam  held  the  center  of  interest. 
The  wonderful,  doubtful,  yet  fascinating  thing  had  come 
to  him.  He  had  been  set  free.  In  each  heart  was  the 
wish  and  with  it  fear  of  the  future.  The  younger  ones 

87 


88 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

laughed  and  frankly  envied  him.  The  older  ones  wagged 
their  heads  doubtfully. 

Old  Ben  expressed  the  best  feelings  of  the  wiser  as  he 
took  Sam's  hand  for  a  fatherly  word.  He  had  finished  the 
packing  in  an  old  cowhide  trunk  which  Custis  had  given 
him. 

"We's  all  gwine  ter  watch  ye,  boy,  wid  good  wishes  in 
our  hearts  and  a  whole  lot  er  misgivin's  a  playin'  roun* 
in  our  min'." 

"Don't  yer  worry  'bout  me,  Uncle  Ben.     I'se  all  right." 

He  paused  and  whispered. 

"Ye  didn't  know  dat  Marse  Robert  done  gimme  five 
hundred  dollars  in  go? — did  ye?" 

"Five  hundred  dollars  in  gol' !"  Ben  gasped. 

Sam  drew  the  shining  yellow  eagles  from  the  bag  in  his 
pocket  and  jingled  them  before  the  old  man's  eyes. 

"Dar  it  is." 

Ben  touched  it  reverently. 

"Praise  God  fer  de  good  folks  He  give  us." 

"I'se  er  proud  nigger,  I  is.  I'se  sorry  fur  dem  dat 
b'longs  to  po'  folks." 

Ben  looked  at  him  benignly. 

"Don't  you  be  too  proud,  boy.  You'se  powerful  young 
and  foolish.  Yer  des  barely  got  sense  enough  ter  git 
outen  a  shower  er  rain.  Dat  money  ain't  gwine  ter  las' 
yer  always." 

"No,  but  man,  des  watch  my  smoke  when  I  git  up 
North.  Yer  hear  frum  me,  yer  will." 

"I  hopes  I  hear  de  right  news." 

Sam  replaced  his  coin  with  a  touch  of  authority  in 
possession. 

"Don't  yer  worry  'bout  me  no  mo'.  I'se  a  free  man 
now  an'  I  gwine  ter  come  into  de  Kingdom." 

The  last  important  task  done  by  the  Colonel  before 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 89 

taking  the  train  for  New  York  was  the  delivery  to  his 
lawyers  of  instructions  for  the  removal  of  the  Doyles  and 
the  placing  in  his  hands  sufficient  funds  for  their  journey. 

He  spent  a  day  in  Washington  investigating  the  chances 
of  the  new  settler  securing  a  quarter  section  of  land  in 
Miami  County,  Kansas,  the  survey  of  which  had  been 
completed.  He  selected  this  County  on  the  Missouri  bor- 
der to  please  Mrs.  Doyle.  She  wished  to  live  as  near  the 
line  of  old  Virginia's  climate  as  possible  and  in  a  country 
with  trees. 

Doyle  promised  to  lose  no  time  in  disposing  of  his 
goods.  The  father,  mother,  three  sons  and  two  little  girls 
were  at  Arlington  to  bid  the  Colonel  and  his  family  good- 
bye. They  were  not  a  demonstrative  people  but  their 
affection  for  their  neighbor  and  friend  could  not  be  mis- 
taken. 

The  mother's  eyes  followed  him  with  no  attempt  to 
hide  her  tears.  She  wiped  them  away  with  her  handker- 
chief. And  went  right  on  crying  and  wiping  them  again. 
The  boys  were  too  shy  to  press  forward  in  the  crowd  and 
grasp  the  Colonel's  hand. 

On  arrival  in  New  York  the  party  stopped  at  the  new 
Hotel  Astor  on  Broadway.  Colonel  Lee  had  promised  to 
spend  a  day  at  Fort  Hamilton,  his  old  command.  But  it 
was  inconvenient  to  make  the  trip  until  the  following 
morning. 

Besides,  he  had  important  business  to  do  for  Sam.  He 
had  sent  two  of  the  servants,  whom  he  had  emancipated, 
to  Liberia,  and  he  planned  the  same  journey  for  Sam.  He 
engaged  a  reservation  for  him  on  a  steamer  sailing  for 
Africa,  and  returned  to  the  hotel  at  nine  o'clock  ready  to 
leave  for  Fort  Hamilton. 

He  was  compelled  to  wait  for  Sam's  return  from  the 
boarding  house  for  colored  people  on  Water  Street  where 


90 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  

he  had  been  sent  by  the  proprietor  of  the  Astor.  Not 
even  negro  servants  were  quartered  in  a  first-class  hotel 
in  New  York  or  any  other  Northern  city. 

Sam  arrived  at  half-past  nine,  and  the  Colonel  strolled 
down  Broadway  with  him  to  the  little  park  at  Bowling 
Green.  He  found  a  seat  and  bade  Sam  sit  down  beside 
him. 

The  boy  watched  the  expression  on  his  old  master's  face 
with  dread.  He  had  a  pretty  clear  idea  what  this  inter- 
view was  to  be  about  and  he  had  made  up  his  mind  on  the 
answer.  His  uncle,  who  had  been  freed  five  years  before, 
had  written  him  a  glowing  letter  about  Liberia. 

He  dreaded  the  subject. 

"You  know,  of  course,  Sam,"  the  Colonel  began,  "that 
your  life  is  now  in  your  own  hands  and  that  I  can  only 
advise  you  as  a  friend." 

"An'  I  sho's  glad  ter  have  ye  he'p  me,  Marse  Robert." 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  the  best  advice  I  can.  I'm  going 
to  advise  you  to  do  exactly  what  I  would  do  if  I  were  in 
your  place." 

"Yassah." 

"If  I  were  you,  Sam,  I  wouldn't  stay  in  this  country. 
I'd  go  back  to  the  land  of  my  black  fathers,  to  its  tropic 
suns  and  rich  soil.  You  can  never  be  a  full-grown  man 
here.  The  North  won't  have  you  as  such.  The  hotel 
wouldn't  let  you  sleep  under  its  roof,  in  spite  of  my  pro- 
test that  you  were  my  body-servant.  In  the  South  the 
old  shadow  of  your  birth  will  be  with  you.  If  you  wish  to 
lift  up  your  head  and  be  a  man  it  can't  be  here.  No  mat- 
ter what  comes  in  the  future.  If  every  black  man,  woman 
and  child  were  set  free  to-morrow,  there  are  not  enough 
negroes  to  live  alone.  The  white  man  will  never  make  you 
his  equal  in  the  world  he  is  building.  I've  secured  your 
passage  to  Liberia  and  I  will  pay  for  it  without  touching 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 91 

the  money  which  I  gave  you.    What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Sam  scratched  his  head  and  looked  away  embarrassed. 
He  spoke  timidly  at  first,  but  with  growing  assurance. 

"I'se  powerful  'fraid  dat  Liberia's  a  long  way  frum 
home,  Marse  Robert." 

"It  is.  But  if  you  wish  to  be  a  full-grown  man,  it's 
3'our  chance  to-day.  It  will  be  the  one  chance  of  your 
people  in  the  future  as  well.  Can  you  make  up  your  mind 
to  face  the  loneliness  and  build  your  home  under  your 
own  vine  and  fig  tree?  There  you  can  look  every  man  in 
the  face,  conscious  that  you're  as  good  as  he  is  and  that 
the  world  is  yours." 

"I'se  feared  I  ain't  got  de  spunk,  Marse  Robert." 

"The  gold  in  your  pocket  will  build  you  a  house  on 
public  lands.  You  know  how  to  farm.  Africa  has  a  great 
future.  You've  seen  our  life.  We've  taught  you  to  work, 
to  laugh,  to  pla}%  to  worship  God,  to  love  your  home  and 
your  people.  You're  only  twenty  years  old.  I  envy  you 
the  wealth  of  youth.  I've  reached  the  hilltop  of  life. 
Your  way  is  still  upward  for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  It's 
the  morning  of  life,  boy,  and  a  new  world  calls  you.  Will 
you  hear  it  and  go?" 

"I'se  skeered,  Marse  Robert,"  Sam  persisted,  shaking 
his  head  gravely. 

Lee  saw  the  hopelessness  of  his  task  and  changed  his 
point  of  appeal. 

"What  do  you  think  of  doing?" 

"Who,  me?" 

"Who  else?    I  can't  think  for  you  any  longer." 

"Oh,  I'll  be  all  right,  sah.  I  foun'  er  lot  er  good  colored 
friends  in  de  bordin'  house  las'  night.  Wid  dat  five  hun- 
dred dollars,  I  be  livin'  in  clover  here,  sah,  sho.  I  done 
talk  wid  a  feller  'bout  goin'  in  business." 

"What  line  of  business?" 


92 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"He  gwine  ter  sho  me  ter-day,  sah." 
"You  don't  think  you  might  change  your  mind  about 
Liberia?" 

"Na  sah.    I  don't  like  my  uncle  dat's  ober  dar,  nohow." 
"Then  I  can't  help  you  any  more,  Sam?" 
"Na  sah,  Marse  Robert.     Y\i  been  de  bes'  master  any 
nigger  eber  had  in  dis  worl'  an'  I  ain't  nebber  gwine  ter 
fergit  dat.     When  I  feels  dem  five  hundred  dollars  in  my 
pocket  I  des  swells  up  lak  I  gwine  ter  bust.    I'se  dat  proud 
o'  myse'f  an'  my  ole  marster  dat  gimme  a  start.    Lordee, 
sah,  hit's  des  gwine  ter  be  fun  fer  me  ter  git  long  an'  I 
mak'  my  fortune  right  here.    Ye  see  ef  I  don't — " 
Lee  smiled  indulgently. 

"Watch  out  you  don't  lose  the  little  one  I  gave  you." 
"Yassah,  I  got  hit  all  sewed  up  in  my  close." 
The  old  master  saw  that  further  argument  would  be 
useless.     He  rose  wondering  if  his  act  of  emancipation 
were  not  an  act  of  cowardice — the  shirking  of  responsi- 
bility for  the  boy's  life.     His  mouth  closed  firmly.     That 
was  just  the  point  about  the  institution  of  Slavery.     No 
such  responsibility  should  be  placed  on  any  man's  shoul- 
ders. 

Sam  insisted  on  ministering  to  the  wants  of  the  family 
until  he  saw  them  safely  on  the  boat  for  West  Point.  He 
waved  each  member  a  long  goodbye.  And  then  hurried 
to  his  new  chum  at  the  boarding  house  on  Water  Street. 
This  dusky  friend  had  won  Sam's  confidence  by  his  genial 
ways  on  the  first  night  of  their  acquaintance.  He  had 
learned  that  Sam  had  just  been  freed.  That  this  was  his 
first  trip  to  New  York  though  he  spoke  with  careless  ease 
of  his  knowledge  of  Washington. 

But  the  most  important  fact  revealed  was  that  he  had 
lately  come  into  money  through  the  generosity  of  his 


former  master.  The  sable  New  Yorker  evinced  no  curiosity 
about  the  amount. 

After  four  days  of  joy  he  waked  from  a  sickening 
stupor.  He  found  himself  lying  in  a  filthy  alley  at  dawn, 
bareheaded,  his  coat  torn  up  the  back,  every  dollar  gone 
and  his  friend  nowhere  to  be  found. 

Colonel  Lee  had  given  him  the  address  of  three  clergy- 
men and  told  him  to  call  on  them  for  help  if  he  had  any 
trouble.  He  looked  everywhere  for  these  cards.  They 
couldn't  be  found.  He  had  been  so  cocksure  of  himself 
he  had  lost  them.  He  couldn't  make  up  his  mind  to  stoop 
to  blacking  boots  and  cleaning  spittoons.  He  had  always 
lived  with  aristocrats.  He  felt  himself  one  to  his  finger 
tips. 

There  was  but  one  thing  he  could  do  that  seemed  to  be 
needed  up  here.  He  could  handle  tobacco.  He  could  stem 
the  leaf.  He  had  learned  that  at  Arlington  in  helping 
Ben  superintend  the  curing  of  the  weed  for  the  servants' 
use. 

He  made  the  rounds  of  the  factories  only  to  find  that 
the  larger  part  of  this  work  was  done  in  tenement  homes. 
He  spent  a  day  finding  one  of  these  workshops. 

They  offered  to  take  him  in  as  a  boarder  and  give  him 
sixty  cents  a  day.  He  could  have  a  pallet  beside  the  six 
children  in  the  other  room  and  a  place  to  put  his  trunk. 
Sixty  cents  a  day  would  pay  his  room  rent  and  give  him 
barely  enough  food  to  keep  body  and  soul  together. 

He  hurried  back  to  his  boarding  house,  threw  the  little 
trunk  on  his  back  and  trudged  to  the  tobacco  tenement. 
When  he  arrived  no  one  stopped  work.  The  mother 
waved  her  hand  to  the  rear.  He  placed  his  trunk  in  a 
dark  corner,  came  out  and  settled  to  the  task  of  stem- 
ming tobacco. 

He  did  his  work  with  a  skill  and  ease  that  fascinated  the 


94 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

children.  He  took  time  to  show  them  how  to  grip  the  leaf 
to  best  advantage  and  rip  the  stem  with  a  quick  movement 
that  left  scarcely  a  trace  of  the  weed  clinging  to  it.  He 
worked  with  a  swinging  movement  of  his  body  and  began 
to  sing  in  soft,  low  tones. 

The  wizened  eyes  brightened,  and  when  he  stopped  one 
of  them  whispered : 

"More,  black  man.     Sing  some  moreP' 

He  sang  one  more  song  and  choked.  His  eye  caught 
the  look  of  mortal  weariness  in  the  tired  face  of  the  little 
girl  of  six  and  his  voice  wouldn't  work. 

"Goddermighty !"  he  muttered,  "dese  here  babies  ought 
not  ter  be  wukkin  lak  dis !" 

When  lunch  time  came  the  six  children  begged  Sam  to 
live  in  the  place  and  take  his  meals  with  them. 

Their  mother  joined  in  the  plea  and  offered  to  board 
him  for  thirty  cents  a  day.  This  would  leave  him  a  few 
cents  to  spend  outside.  He  couldn't  yet  figure  on  clothes. 
It  didn't  seem  right  to  have  to  pay  for  such  things.  Any- 
how he  had  enough  to  last  him  awhile. 

He  decided  to  accept  the  offer  and  live  as  a  boarder 
with  the  family.  The  lunch  was  discouraging.  A  piece  of 
cold  bread  and  a  glass  of  water  from  the  hydrant.  Sam 
volunteered  to  bring  the  water. 

The  hydrant  was  the  only  water  supply  for  the  six 
hundred  people  whose  houses  touched  the  alley.  It  stood 
in  the  center.  The  only  drainage  was  a  sink  in  front  of 
it.  All  the  water  used  had  to  be  carried  up  the  stairs 
and  the  slops  carried  down.  The  tired  people  did  little 
carrying  downstairs.  Pans  and  pails  full  of  dishwater 
were  emptied  out  the  windows  with  no  care  for  the  passer 
below.  Scarcely  a  day  passed  without  a  fight  from  this 
cause.  A  fight  in  the  quarter  was  always  a  pleasure  to 
the  settlement. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  95 

Sam  munched  his  bread  and  sipped  his  water.  He 
watched  the  children  eat  their  pieces  ravenously.  He 
couldn't  finish  his.  He  handed  it  to  the  smallest  one  of 
the  children  who  was  staring  at  him  with  eyes  that  chilled 
his  heart.  He  knew  the  child  was  still  hungry.  Such  a 
lunch  as  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  tin  cup  of  water  must  be 
an  accident,  of  course.  He  had  heard  of  jailors  putting 
prisoners  on  bread  and  water  to  punish  them.  He  had 
never  known  human  beings  living  at  home  to  have  such 
food.  They  would  have  a  good  dinner  steaming  hot.  He 
was  sure  of  that. 

A  sudden  commotion  broke  out  in  the  alley  below.  Yells, 
catcalls,  oaths  and  the  sound  of  crashing  bricks,  coal, 
pieces  of  furniture,  and  the  splash  of  much  water  came 
from  the  court. 

The  mother  rushed  to  the  window  and  hurled  a  stone. 
There  was  a  pile  of  them  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

Sam  tried  to  Jook  out. 

"What's  de  matter,  ma'm?    Is  dey  er  fight?" 

"No — nothin'  but  a  rent  collector."    The  woman  smiled. 

It  was  the  first  pleasant  thought  that  had  entered  her 
mind  since  Sam  had  come. 

The  dinner  was  as  rude  a  surprise  as  the  lunch.  He 
watched  the  woman  fumble  over  lighting  the  fire  in  the 
stove  until  he  could  stand  it  no  longer. 

"Lemme  start  de  fire  fer  ye,  ma'm,"  he  offered  at  last. 

"I  wish  you  would,"  she  sighed.  "I  married  when  I  wuz 
seventeen  and  I  never  had  made  a  fire  before.  I  don't  be- 
lieve I'll  ever  learn." 

The  negro  was  not  long  in  observing  that  she  knew  no 
more  about  cooking  than  she  did  about  lighting  a  fire. 
The  only  cooking  utensils  in  the  place  were  a  pot  and  a 
frying  pan.  The  frying  pan  was  in  constant  use.  For 
dinner  she  fried  a  piece  of  tough  beef  without  seasoning. 


96 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

She  didn't  know  how  to  make  bread.  She  bought  the  soggy 
stuff  at  the  grocer's.  There  was  no  bread  for  dinner  at 
all.  They  had  boiled  potatoes,  boiled  in  plain  water  with- 
out even  a  grain  of  salt  or  pepper.  The  coffee  was  so  black 
and  heavy  and  bitter  he  couldn't  drink  it. 

The  father  had  a  cup  of  beer  with  his  coffee.  A  cup  of 
beer  was  provided  for  Sam.  The  girl  of  twelve  had  rushed 
the  growler  to  the  corner  saloon.  The  negro  had  never 
tasted  beer  before  and  he  couldn't  drink  it.  The  stuff  was 
horrible.  It  reminded  him  of  a  dose  of  quinine  his  mistress 
had  once  made  him  take  when  he  had  a  chill. 

He  worked  harder  than  usual  next  day  to  forget  the 
fear  that  haunted  him.  At  night  he  was  ill.  He  had 
caught  cold  and  had  a  fever.  He  dropped  on  his  pallet 
without  dinner  and  didn't  get  up  for  three  weeks. 

He  owed  his  landlady  so  much  money  now,  he  felt  in 
honor  bound  to  board  with  her  and  give  her  all  his  earn- 
ings. He  felt  himself  sinking  into  an  abyss  and  he  didn't 
have  the  strength  to  fight  his  way  out. 

The  thing  that  hurt  him  more  than  bad  food  and  air 
when  he  got  to  his  work  again  was  the  look  of  death  in  the 
faces  of  the  children.  Their  eyes  haunted  him  in  the  dark 
as  they  slept  on  the  same  floor.  He  would  get  out  of 
there  when  he  was  strong  again.  But  these  children  would 
never  go  except  to  be  hauled  in  the  dead  wagon  to  the 
Potter's  Field.  And  he  heard  the  rattle  of  this  black 
wagon  daily. 

In  a  mood  of  desperation  he  walked  down  Water  Street 
past  the  boarding  house.  In  front  of  the  place  he  met  a 
boarder  who  had  spoken  to  him  the  last  day  of  his  stay. 
He  seized  Sam  by  the  coat,  led  him  aside  and  whispered: 

"Has  ye  heard  'bout  de  old  man,  name  John  Brown, 
dat  come  ter  lead  de  niggers  ter  de  promise'  Ian'?" 

"No,  but  I'se  waitin'  fur  somebody  ter  lead  me." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 97 

"Come  right  on  wid  me,  man.  I'se  a-goin'  to  a  meetin' 
to-night  an'  jine  de  ban'.  Will  ye  jine  us?" 

"I  jine  anything  dat'll  lead  me  to  de  promise'  Ian'." 

"Come  on.  Hit's  over  in  Brooklyn  but  a  nigger's  gwine 
ter  meet  me  at  de  ferry  and  take  me  dar." 

Sam  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  money  for  the  ferry. 
Luckily  he  had  twenty  cents.  It  was  worth  while  to  gam- 
ble that  much  on  a  trip  to  the  promised  land. 

An  emissary  of  the  prophet  met  them  on  the  Brooklyn 
side  and  led  them  to  a  vacant  store  with  closed  wooden 
shutters.  No  light  could  be  seen  from  the  street.  The 
guide  rapped  a  signal  and  the  door  opened.  Inside  were 
about  thirty  negroes  gathered  before  a  platform.  Chairs 
filled  the  long  space.  A  white  man  was  talking  to  the 
closely  packed  group  of  blacks.  Sam  pressed  forward 
and  watched  him. 

He  was  old  until  he  began  to  talk.  And  then  there  was 
something  strange  and  electric  in  his  tones  that  made  him 
young.  His  voice  was  vaulting  and  metallic  and  throbbed 
with  an  indomitable  will.  There  was  contagion  in  the 
fierceness  of  his  tones.  It  caught  his  hearers  and  called 
them  in  a  spell. 

His  shoulders  were  stooped.  His  manner  grim  and  im- 
pressive. There  was  a  quick,  wiry  movement  to  his  body 
that  gave  the  idea  that  he  was  crouching  to  spring.  It 
was  uncanny.  It  persisted  as  his  speech  lengthened. 

He  was  talking  in  cold  tones  of  the  injustice  being  done 
the  black  man  in  the  South.  Of  the  crimes  against  God 
and  humanity  which  the  Southern  whites  were  daily  com- 
mitting. 

The  one  feature  of  the  strange  speaker  that  fascinated 
Sam  was  the  glitter  of  his  shifting  eyes.  He  never  held 
them  still.  He  did  not  try  to  bore  a  man  through  with 
them.  They  were  restless,  as  if  moved  by  hidden  forces 


98 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

/within.  The  flash  of  light  from  their  depths  seemed  a 
'signal  from  an  unknown  world. 

Sam  watched  him  with  open  mouth. 

He  was  finishing  his  talk  now  in  a  desultory  way  more 
gripping  in  its  deadly  calm  than  the  most  passionate  ap- 
peal. 

"We  are  enrolling  volunteers,"  he  quietly  announced. 
"Volunteers  in  the  United  States  League  of  Gileadites. 
If  you  sign  your  names  to  the  roll  to-night  understand 
clearly  what  you  are  doing.  I  have  written  for  each  mem- 
ber Words  of  Advice  which  he  must  memorize  as  the  guide 
to  his  action." 

He  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  from  his  pocket  and  read : 

"No  jury  can  be  found  in  the  Northern  States,  that 
would  convict  a  man  for  defending  his  rights  to  the  last 
extremity.  This  is  well  understood  by  Southern  Congress- 
men, who  insist  that  the  right  of  trial  by  jury  should  not 
be  granted  to  the  fugitive  slave.  Colored  people  have 
more  fast  friends  among  the  whites  than  they  suppose. 
Just  think  of  the  money  expended  by  individuals  in  your 
behalf  in  the  past  twenty  years !  Think  of  the  number 
who  have  been  mobbed  and  imprisoned  on  your  account. 
Have  any  of  you  seen  the  branded  hand?  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  names  of  Lovejoy  and  Torrey?  Should  any  of 
your  number  be  arrested,  you  must  collect  together  as 
quickly  as  possible  so  as  to  outnumber  your  adversaries 
who  are  taking  an  active  part  against  you.  Let  no  able- 
bodied  man  appear  on  the  ground  unequipped  or  with  his 
weapons  exposed  to  view;  let  that  be  understood  before- 
hand. Your  plans  must  be  known  only  to  yourself,  and 
with  the  understanding  that  all  traitors  must  die,  wher- 
ever caught  and  proven  to  be  guilty. 

"  'Whosoever  is  fearful  or  afraid,  let  him  return  and  de- 
part early  from  Mount  Gilead*  (Judges  VII  Chapter, 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 99 

3rd  verse;  Deuteronomy  XX  Chapter,  8th  verse).  Give 
all  cowards  an  opportunity  to  show  it  on  condition  of 
holding  their  peace.  Do  not  delay  one  moment  after 
you're  ready:  you  will  lose  all  your  resolution  if  you  do. 
Let  the  first  blow  be  the  signal  for  all  to  engage;  and 
when  engaged  do  not  do  your  work  by  halves ;  but  make 
clean  work  with  your  enemies — " 

It  was  the  slow  way  in  which  he  spoke  the  last  words 
that  gave  them  meaning.  Sam  could  hear  in  his  tones  the 
crash  of  steel  into  human  flesh  and  the  grating  of  the  blade 
on  the  bone.  It  made  him  shiver. 

Every  negro  present  joined  the  League. 

When  the  last  man  had  signed,  John  Brown  led  in  a 
long  prayer  to  Almighty  God  to  bless  the  holy  work  on 
which  these  noble  men  had  entered.  At  the  close  of  his 
prayer  he  announced  that  on  the  following  night  at  the 
People's  Hall  on  the  Bowery  in  New  York,  the  Honorable 
Gerrit  Smith,  the  noblest  friend  of  the  colored  men  in  the 
North,  would  preside  over  a  mass  meeting  in  behalf  of  the 
downtrodden.  He  asked  them  all  to  come  and  bring  their 
friends. 

The  ceremony  of  signing  over,  Sam  turned  to  the  guide 
with  a  genial  smile. 

"I  done  jine  de  League." 

"That's  right.    I  knew  you  would." 

"I'se  a  full  member  now,  ain't  I?" 

"Of  course." 

"When  do  we  eat?"  Sam  asked  eagerly. 

"Eat?" 

"Sho." 

"We  ain't  organizin'  de  Gileadites  to  eat,  man." 

"Ain't  we?" 

"No,  sah.  We'se  organizin' — ter  kill  white  men  dat 
come  atter  runaway  slaves." 


100 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"But  ain't  dey  got  nuttin  ter  eat  fer  dem  dat's  here?" 
"You  come  ter  de  big  meetin'  ter-morrow  night  an'  hear 

sumfin  dat's  good  fer  yo'  soul." 

"I'll  be  dar,"  Sam  promised.     But  he  hoped  to  find 

something  at  the  meeting  that  was  good  for  his  stomach 

as  well  as  his  soul. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  negroes  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn  were  not 
the  only  people  in  the  North  falling  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  strange  man  who  answered  to  the 
name  of  John  Brown.     There  was   something  magnetic 
about  him  that  drew  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men. 

The  statesmen  who  still  used  reason  as  the  guiding  prin- 
ciple of  life  had  no  use  for  him.  Henry  Wilson,  the  new 
Senator  from  Massachusetts,  met  him  and  was  repelled 
by  the  something  that  drew  others.  Governor  Andrew 
was  puzzled  by  his  strange  personality. 

The  secret  of  his  power  lay  in  a  mystic  appeal  to  the 
Puritan  conscience.  He  had  been  from  childhood  afflicted 
with  this  conscience  in  its  most  malignant  form.  He  knew* 
instinctively  its  process  of  action. 

The  Puritan  had  settled  New  England  and  fixed  the 
principles  both  of  economic  and  political  life.  The  civili- 
zation he  set  up  was  compact  and  commercial.  He  or- 
ganized it  in  towns  and  townships.  The  Meeting  House 
was  the  center,  the  source  of  all  power  and  authority.  No 
dwelling  could  be  built  further  than  two  miles  from  a 
church  and  attendance  on  worship  was  made  compulsory 
by  law. 

The  South,  against  whose  life  Brown  was  organizing 

101 


102 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

his  militant  crusade,  was  agricultural,  scattered,  individ- 
ual. Individualism  was  a  passion  with  the  Southerner, 
liberty  his  battle  cry.  He  scorned  the  "authority"  of 
the  church  and  worshipped  God  according  to  the  dictates 
of  his  own  conscience.  The  Court  House,  not  the  Meeting 
House,  was  his  forum,  and  he  rode  there  through  miles 
of  virgin  forests  to  dispute  with  his  neighbor. 

The  mental  processes  of  the  Puritan,  therefore,  were 
distinctly  different  from  that  of  the  Southerner.  The 
Puritan  mind  was  given  to  hours  of  grim  repression  which 
he  called  "Conviction  of  Sin."  Resistance  became  the 
prime  law  of  life.  The  world  was  a  thing  of  evil.  A 
morass  of  Sin  to  be  attacked,  to  be  reformed,  to  be  "abol- 
ished." The  Southerner  perceived  the  evils  of  Slavery 
long  before  the  Puritan,  but  he  made  a  poor  Abolitionist. 
The  Puritan  was  born  an  Abolitionist.  He  should  not 
only  resist  and  attack  the  world;  he  should  hate  it.  He 
early  learned  to  love  the  pleasure  of  hating.  He  hated 
himself  if  no  more  promising  victim  loomed  on  the  horizon. 
He  early  became  the  foremost  Persecutor  and  Vice-Cru- 
sader of  the  new  world.  He  made  witch-hunting  one  of 
the  sports  of  New  England. 

When  not  busy  with  some  form  of  the  witch  hunt,  the 
Puritan  found  an  outlet  for  his  repressed  instincts  in  the 
ferocity  with  which  he  fought  the  Indians  or  worked  to 
achieve  the  conquest  of  Nature  and  lay  up  worldly  goods 
for  himsell  and  his  children.  Prosperity,  therefore,  be- 
came the  second  principle  of  his  religion,  next  to  vice 
crusading.  When  he  succeeded  in  business,  he  praised  God 
for  his  tender  mercies.  His  goods  and  chattels  became 
the  visible  evidence  of  His  love.  The  only  holiday  he  es- 
tablished or  permitted  was  the  day  on  which  he  publicly 
thanked  God  for  the  goods  which  He  had  delivered. 
Through  him  the  New  England  Puritan  Thanksgiving  Day 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 103 

became  a  national  festival  and  through  him  a  religious 
reverence  for  worldly  success  has  become  a  national  ideal. 

The  inner  life  of  the  Puritan  was  soul-fear.  Driven  by 
fear  and  repression  he  attacked  his  rock-ribbed  country, 
its  thin  soil,  its  savage  enemies  and  his  own  fellow  com- 
petitors with  fury. 

And  he  succeeded. 

The  odds  against  him  sharpened  his  powers,  made  keen 
his  mind,  toughened  his  muscles. 

The  Southern  planter,  on  the  other  hand,  represented 
the  sharpest  contrast  to  this  mental  and  physical  attitude 
toward  life.  He  came  of  the  stock  of  the  English  Squire. 
And  if  he  came  from  Scotland  he  found  this  English  ideal 
already  established  and  accepted  it  as  his  own. 

The  joy  of  living,  not  the  horror  of  life,  was  the  main- 
spring of  his  action  and  the  secret  of  his  character.  The 
Puritan  hated  play.  The  Southerner  loved  to  play.  He 
dreamed  of  a  life  rich  and  full  of  spiritual  and  physical 
leisure.  He  enjoyed  his  religion.  He  did  not  agonize  over 
it.  His  character  was  genial.  He  hated  fear  and  drove 
it  from  his  soul.  He  loved  a  fiddle  and  a  banjo.  He  was 
brave.  He  was  loyal  to  his  friends.  He  loved  his  home 
and  his  kin.  He  despised  trade.  He  disliked  hard  work. 

To  this  hour  in  the  country's  life  his  ideal  had  domi- 
nated the  nation. 

The  Puritan  Abolitionists  now  challenged  this  ideal  for 
a  fight  to  the  finish.  Slavery  was  protected  by  the  Con- 
stitution. All  right,  they  burn  the  Constitution  and  de- 
nounce it  as  a  Covenant  with  Death,  an  agreement  with 
Hell.  They  begin  a  propaganda  to  incite  servile  insur- 
rection in  the  South.  They  denounce  the  Southern  Slave 
owner  as  a  fiend.  Even  the  greatest  writers  of  the  North 
caught  the  contagion  of  this  mania.  Longfellow,  Lowell, 
Whittier  and  Emerson  used  their  pens  to  blacken  the  name 


104 THE  MAN  IN  GEAY 

of  the  Southern  people.  From  platform,  pulpit  and 
forum,  through  pamphlet,  magazine,  weekly  and  daily 
newspapers  the  stream  of  abuse  poured  forth  in  ever-in- 
creasing volume. 

That  the  proud  Southerner  would  resent  the  injustice 
of  this  wholesale  indictment  was  inevitable.  Their  habit 
of  mind,  their  born  instinct  of  leadership,  their  love  of 
independence,  their  hatred  of  dictation,  their  sense  of 
historic  achievement  in  the  building  of  the  republic  would 
resent  it.  Their  critics  had  not  only  been  Slave  holders 
themselves  as  long  as  it  paid  commercially,  but  their  skip- 
pers were  now  sailing  the  seas  in  violation  of  Southern 
laws  prohibiting  the  slave  trade.  Our  early  Slave  traders 
were  nearly  all  Puritans.  When  one  of  their  ships  came 
into  port,  the  minister  met  her  at  the  wharf,  knelt  in 
prayer  and  thanked  Almighty  God  for  one  more  cargo  of 
heathen  saved  from  hell. 

Brown's  whole  plan  of  attack  was  based  on  the  cer- 
tainty of  resentment  from  the  South.  He  set  out  to  pro- 
voke his  opponents.  This  purpose  was  now  the  inspira- 
tion of  every  act  of  his  life. 

A  group  of  six  typical  Northern  minds  had  fallen  com- 
pletely under  his  power :  Dr.  Samuel  G.  Howe,  Rev.  Theo- 
dore Parker,  Rev.  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson,  Frank 
B.  Sanborn,  George  L.  Stearns  and  the  Rev.  Hon.  Gerrit 
Smith. 

Gerrit  Smith  was  many  times  a  millionaire,  one  of  the 
great  land  owners  of  the  country,  a  former  partner  in 
business  with  John  Jacob  Astor,  the  elder,  and  at  this 
time  a  philanthropist  by  profession.  He  had  built  a 
church  at  Peterboro,  New  York,  and  had  preached  a  num- 
ber of  years.  In  his  growing  zeal  as  an  Abolitionist  he 
had  entered  politics  and  had  just  been  elected  to  Congress 
from  his  district. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  105 

He  was  a  man  of  gentle,  humane  impulses  and  looked 
out  upon  the  world  with  the  kindliest  fatherly  eyes.  It 
was  one  of  the  curious  freaks  of  fate  that  he  should  fall 
under  the  influence  of  Brown.  The  stern  old  Puritan  was 
his  antithesis  in  every  line  of  face  and  mental  make-up. 

Smith  was  the  preacher,  the  theorist,  and  the  dreamer. 

Brown  had  become  the  man  of  Action. 

And  by  Action  he  meant  exactly  what  the  modern  Social 
anarchist  means  by  direct  action.  The  plan  he  had  de- 
veloped was  to  come  to  "close  quarters"  with  Slavery. 
He  had  organized  the  Band  of  Gileadites  to  kill  every 
officer  of  the  law  who  attempted  to  enforce  the  provisions 
of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  relating  to  Slav- 
ery. His  eyes  were  now  fixed  on  the  Territory  of  Kansas. 

There  could  be  no  doubt  about  the  abnormality  of  the 
mind  of  the  man  who  had  constituted  himself  the  Chosen 
Instrument  of  Almighty  God  to  destroy  chattel  Slavery  in 
the  South, 

He  was  pacing  the  floor  of  the  parlor  of  the  New  Astor 
House  awaiting  the  arrival  of  his  friend,  Congressman 
Gerrit  Smith,  for  a  conference  before  the  meeting  sched- 
uled for  eight  o'clock.  It  was  a  characteristic  of  Brown 
that  he  couldn't  sit  still.  He  paced  the  floor. 

The  way  he  walked  marked  him  with  distinction,  if  not 
eccentricity.  He  walked  always  with  a  quick,  springing 
step.  He  didn't  swing  his  foot.  It  worked  on  springs. 
And  the  spring  in  it  had  a  furtive  action  not  unlike  the 
movement  of  a  leopard.  His  muscles,  in  spite  of  his  fifty- 
four  years,  were  strong  and  sinewy.  He  was  five  feet  ten 
inches  in  height. 

His  head  was  remarkable  for  its  small  size.  The  brain 
space  was  limited  and  the  hair  grew  low  on  his  forehead, 
as  if  a  hark  back  to  the  primitive  man  out  of  which  hu- 
manity grew.  His  chin  protruded  into  an  aggressive 


106 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

threat.  His  mouth  was  not  only  stern,  it  was  as  inexor- 
able as  an  oath. 

His  hair  was  turning  gray  and  he  wore  it  trimmed  close 
to  his  small  skull.  His  nose  was  an  aggressive  Roman 
type.  The  expression  of  his  face  was  shrewd  and  serious, 
with  a  touch  always  of  cunning. 

A  visitor  at  his  house  at  North  Elba  whispered  one 
day  to  one  of  his  sons : 

"Your  father  looks  like  an  eagle." 

The  boy  hesitated  and  replied  in  deep  seriousness : 

"Yes,  or  some  other  carnivorous  bird." 

The  thing  above  all  others  that  gave  him  the  look  of  a 
bird  of  prey  was  his  bluish-gray  eye.  An  eye  that  was 
never  still  and  always  shone  with  a  glitter.  The  only  time 
this  strange  light  was  not  noticeable  was  during  the  mo- 
ments when  he  drew  the  lids  down  half-way.  He  was  in 
the  habit  of  holding  his  eyes  half  shut  in  times  of  deep 
thinking.  At  these  moments  if  he  raised  his  head,  his  eyes 
glowed  two  pin  points  of  light. 

No  matter  what  the  impression  he  made,  either  of  at- 
traction or  repulsion,  his  personality  was  a  serious  propo- 
sition. No  man  looked  once  only.  And  no  man  ever  at- 
tempted undue  familiarity  or  ridicule.  His  life  to  this 
time  had  been  a  series  of  tragic  failures  in  everything  he 
had  undertaken.  A  study  of  his  intense  Puritan  face 
revealed  at  once  his  fundamental  character.  A  soul  at 
war  with  the  world.  A  soul  at  war  with  himself.  He 
was  the  incarnation  of  repressed  emotions  and  desires.  He 
had  married  twice  and  his  fierce  passions  had  made  him 
the  father  of  twenty  children  before  fifty  years  of  age. 
His  first  wife  had  given  birth  to  seven  in  ten  years  and 
died  a  raving  maniac  during  the  birth  of  her  last.  Two 
of  his  children  had  already  shown  the  signs  of  unbalanced 
mentality. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 107 

The  grip  of  his  mind  on  the  individuals  who  allowed 
themselves  to  be  drawn  within  the  circle  of  his  influence 
became  absolute. 

He  was  a  man  of  earnest  and  constant  prayer  to  his 
God.  The  God  he  worshipped  was  one  whose  face  was  not 
yet  revealed  to  the  crowd  that  hung  on  his  strangely  halt- 
ing words.  He  spoke  in  mystic  symbols.  His  mysticism 
was  always  the  source  of  his  power  over  the  religious  lead- 
ers who  had  gathered  about  him.  They  had  not  stopped 
to  analyze  the  meaning  of  this  appeal.  They  looked  once 
into  his  shining  blue-gray  eyes  and  became  his  followers. 
He  never  stopped  to  reason. 

He  spoke  with  authority. 

He  claimed  a  divine  commission  for  action  and  they  did 
not  pause  to  examine  his  credentials.  He  had  failed  at 
every  enterprise  he  had  undertaken.  And  then  he  sud- 
denlv  discovered  his  power  over  the  Puritan  imagination. 

To  Brown's  mind,  from  the  day  of  his  devotion  to  the 
fixed  idea  of  destroying  Slavery  in  the  South,  "Action" 
had  but  one  meaning — bloodshed.     He  knew  that  revolu-l 
tionary  ideas  are  matters  of  belief.     He  asserted  beliefs^ 
The  elect  believed.    The  damned  refused  to  believe. 

Long  before  Smith  had  entered  the  room  Brown  had 
dropped  into  a  seat  by  the  window,  his  eyes  two  pin  points. 
His  abstraction  was  so  deep,  his  absorption  in  his  dreams 
so  complete  that  when  Smith  spoke,  he  leaped  to  his  feet 
and  put  himself  in  an  attitude  of  defense. 

He  gazed  at  his  friend  a  moment  and  rubbed  his  eyes 
in  a  dazed  way  before  he  could  come  back  to  earth. 

In  a  moment  he  had  clasped  hands  with  the  philanthro- 
pist. Smith  looked  into  his  eyes  and  his  will  was  one  with 
the  man  of  Action.  He  had  not  yet  grasped  the  full 
meaning  of  the  Action.  He  was  to  awake  later  to  its 
tremendous  import — primitive,  barbaric,  animal,  linking 


108 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

man  through  hundreds  of  thousands  of  years  to  the  beast 
who  was  his  jungle  father. 

Smith  did  not  know  that  he  was  to  preside  at  the  meet- 
ing until  Brown  told  him.  He  consented  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ON  their  way  to  the  hall  on  the  Bowery  Gerrit  Smith 
and  John  Brown  passed  through  dimly  lighted 
streets  along  which  were  drifting  scores  of  boys 
and  girls,  ragged,  friendless,  homeless,  shelterless  in  the 
chill  night.     The  strange  old  man's  eyes  were  fixed  on 
space.    He  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing  of  the  city's  roar- 
ing life  or  the  call  of  its  fathomless  misery. 

He  saw  nothing  even  when  they  passed  a  house  with  a 
red  light  before  which  little  girls  of  twelve  were  selling 
flowers.  Neither  of  the  men,  living  for  a  single  fixed  idea, 
caught  the  accent  of  evil  in  the  child's  voice  as  she  stepped 
squarely  in  front  of  them  and  said: 

"What's  ye  hurry?" 

When  they  turned  aside  she  piped  again: 

"Won't  ye  come  in?" 

They  merely  passed  on.  The  infinite  pathos  of  the 
scene  had  made  no  impression.  That  this  child's  presence 
on  the  streets  was  enough  to  damn  the  whole  system  of 
society  to  the  lowest  hell  never  dawned  on  the  philan- 
thropist or  the  man  of  Action. 

The  crowd  in  the  hall  was  not  large.  The  place  was 
about  half  full  and  it  seated  barely  five  hundred.  The 
masses  of  the  North  as  yet  took  no  stock  in  the  Abolition 
Crusade, 

109 


110 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

They  felt  the  terrific  pressure  of  the  problem  of  life 
at  home  too  keenly  to  go  into  hysterics  over  the  evils  of 
Negro  Slavery  in  the  South.  William  Lloyd  Garrison  had 
been  preaching  his  denunciations  for  twenty-one  years  and 
its  fruits  were  small.  The  masses  of  the  people  were  in- 
different. 

But  a  man  was  pushing  his  way  to  the  platform  of  the 
little  hall  to-night  who  was  destined  to  do  a  deed  that  would 
accomplish  what  all  the  books  and  all  the  magazines  and 
all  the  newspapers  of  the  Crusaders  had  tried  in  vain  to  do. 

Small  as  the  crowd  was,  there  was  something  sinister  in 
its  composition.  Half  of  them  were  foreigners.  It  was 
the  first  wave  of  the  flood  of  degradation  for  our  racial 
stock  in  the  North — the  racial  stock  of  John  Adams  and 
John  Hancock. 

A  few  workingmen  were  scattered  among  them.  Fifty 
or  sixty  negroes  occupied  the  front  rows.  Sam  had  se- 
cured a  seat  on  the  aisle.  Gerrit  Smith  rose  without  cere- 
mony and  introduced  Brown.  There  were  no  women  pres- 
ent. He  used  the  formal  address  to  the  American  voter : 

"Fellow  Citizens: 

"I  have  the  honor  to  present  to  you  to-night  a  man 
chosen  of  God  to  lead  our  people  out  of  the  darkness  of  sin, 
my  fellow  worker  in  the  Kingdom,  the  friend  of  the  down- 
trodden and  the  oppressed,  John  Brown." 

Faint  applause  greeted  the  old  man  as  he  moved  briskly 
to  the  little  table  with  his  quick,  springing  step. 

He  fixed  the  people  with  his  brilliant  eyes  and  they  were 
silent.  He  was  slow  of  speech,  awkward  in  gesture,  and 
without  skill  in  the  building  of  ideas  to  hold  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  typical  crowd. 

It  was  not  a  typical  crowd  of  American  freemen.    It  was 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 111 

something  new  under  the  sun  in  our  history.  It  was  the 
beginning  of  the  coming  mob  mind  destined  to  use  Direct 
Action  in  defiance  of  the  Laws  on  which  the  Republic  had 
been  built. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  message  Brown  bore.  He 
proclaimed  that  the  negro  is  the  blood  brother  of  the  white 
man.  The  color  of  his  skin  was  an  accident.  This  white 
man  with  a  black  skin  was  now  being  beaten  and  ground 
into  the  dust  by  the  infamy  of  his  masters.  Their  crimes 
cried  to  God  for  vengeance.  All  the  negro  needed  was 
freedom  to  transform  him  into  a  white  man — your  equal 
and  mine.  At  present,  our  brothers  and  sisters  are  groan- 
ing in  chains  on  Southern  plantations.  His  vaulting  me- 
tallic tones  throbbed  with  a  strange,  cold  passion  as  he 
called  for  Action. 

The  vibrant  call  for  bloodshed  in  this  cry  melted  the 
crowd  into  a  new  personality.  The  mildest  spirit  among 
them  was  merged  into  the  mob  mind  of  the  speaker.  And 
every  man  within  the  sound  of  his  voice  was  a  murderer. 

The  final  leap  of  the  speaker's  soul  into  an  expression 
of  supreme  hate  for  the  Southern  white  man  found  its  in- 
stant echo  in  the  mob  which  he  had  created.  They  de- 
manded no  facts.  They  asked  no  reasons.  They  accepted 
his  statements  as  the  oracle  of  God.  They  were  opinions, 
beliefs,  dogmas,  the  cries  of  propaganda  only — precisely 
the  food  needed  for  developing  the  mob  mind  to  its  full 
strength.  Envy,  jealousy,  hatred  ruled  supreme.  Liberty 
was  a  catchword.  Blood  lust  was  the  motive  power  driving 
each  heart  beat. 

Brown  suddenly  stopped.  His  speech  had  reached  no 
climax.  It  had  rambled  into  repetition.  Its  power  con- 
sisted in  the  repetition  of  a  fixed  thought.  He  knew  the 
power  of  this  repeated  hammering  on  the  mind.  An  idea 
can  be  repeated  until  it  is  believed,  true  or  false.  He  had 


112 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

pounded  his  message  into  his  hearers  until  they  were  in- 
capable of  resistance.  It  was  unnecessary  for  him  to  con- 
tinue. He  stopped  so  suddenly,  they  waited  in  silence  for 
him  to  go  on  after  he  had  taken  his  seat. 

A  faint  applause  again  swept  the  front  of  the  house. 
There  was  something  uncanny  about  the  man  that  hushed 
applause.  They  knew  that  he  was  indifferent  to  it.  Hid- 
den fires  burned  within  him  that  lighted  the  way  of  life. 
He  needed  no  torches  held  on  high.  He  asked  no  honors. 
He  expected  no  applause  and  he  got  little.  What  he  did 
demand  was  submission  to  his  will  and  obedience  as  fol- 
lowers. 

Gerrit  Smith  rose  with  this  thought  gripping  his  gentle 
spirit.  His  words  came  automatically  as  if  driven  by  an- 
other's mind. 

"Our  friend  and  leader  has  dedicated  his  life  to  the 
service  of  suffering  humanity.  It  is  our  duty  to  follow. 
The  first  step  is  to  sacrifice  our  money  in  his  cause." 

The  ushers  passed  the  baskets  and  Sam's  heart  warmed 
as  he  heard  the  coin  rattle.  His  eyes  bulged  when  he  saw 
that  one  of  them  had  a  pile  of  bills  in  it  that  covered  the 
coin.  He  heard  the  great  and  good  man  say  that  it  was 
for  the  poor  brother  in  black.  He  saw  visions  of  a  warm 
room,  of  clean  food  and  plenty  of  it. 

He  was  glad  he'd  come,  although  he  didn't  like  the  look 
in  John  Brown's  eyes  while  he  spoke.  Their  fierce  light 
seemed  to  bore  through  him  and  hurt.  Now  that  he  was 
seated  and  his  eyes  half  closed,  uplifted  toward  the  ceiling, 
he  wasn't  so  formidable.  He  rather  liked  him  sitting  down. 

The  ushers  poured  the  money  on  the  table  and  counted 
it.  Sam  had  not  seen  so  much  money  together  since  he 
piled  his  five  hundred  dollars  in  gold  in  a  stack  and  looked 
at  it.  He  watched  the  count  with  fascination.  There  must 
be  a  thousand  at  least. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 113 

He  was  shocked  when  the  head  usher  leaned  over  the  edge 
of  the  platform,  and  whispered  to  Smith  the  total. 

"Eighty-five  dollars." 

Sam  glanced  sadly  at  the  two  rows  of  negroes  in  front. 
There  wouldn't  be  much  for  each.  He  took  courage  in  the 
thought,  however,  that  some  of  them  were  well-to-do  and 
wouldn't  ask  their  share.  He  was  sure  of  this  because  he 
had  seen  three  or  four  put  something  in  the  baskets. 

Gerrit  Smith  announced  the  amount  of  the  collection 
with  some  embarrassment  and  heartily  added : 

"My  check  for  a  hundred  and  fifteen  dollars  makes  the 
sum  an  even  two  hundred." 

That  was  something  worth  while.  Smith  and  Brown 
held  a  conference  about  the  announcement  of  another  meet- 
ing as  Sam  whispered  to  the  head  usher : 

"Could  ye  des  gimme  mine  now  an'  lemme  go?" 

"Yours?" 

"Yassah." 

"Your  share  of  the  collection?'* 

The  usher  eyed  him  in  scorn. 

"To  be  sho,"  Sam  answered  confidently.  "Yer  tuk  it 
up  fer  de  po'  black  man.  I'se  black,  an'  God  knows  I'se 
po'." 

"You're  a  poor  fool !" 

"What  ye  take  hit  up  fer  den?" 

"To  support  John  Brown,  not  to  feed  lazy,  good-for- 
nothing,  free  negroes." 

Sam  turned  from  the  man  in  disgust.  He  was  about 
to  rise  and  shamble  back  to  his  miserable  pallet  when  a 
sudden  craning  of  necks  and  moving  of  feet  drew  his  eye 
toward  the  door. 

He  saw  a  man  stalking  down  the  aisle.  He  carried  on 
his  left  arm  a  little  bundle  of  filthy  rags.  He  mounted 
the  platform  and  spoke  to  the  Chairman: 


114 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Mr.  Smith,  may  I  say  just  a  word  to  this  meeting?" 

The  Philanthropist  Congressman  recognized  him  in- 
stantly as  the  most  eloquent  orator  in  the  labor  movement 
in  America.  He  had  met  him  at  a  Reform  Convention. 
He  rose  at  once. 

"Certainly." 

"Fellow  Citizens,  Mr.  George  Evans,  the  leading  advo- 
cate of  Organized  Labor  in  America,  wishes  to  speak  to 
you.  Will  you  hear  him?" 

"Yes !    Yes !    Yes !"  came  from  all  parts  of  the  house. 

The  man  began  in  quivering  tones  that  held  Sam  and 
gripped  the  unwilling  mind  of  the  crowd : 

"My  friends :  Just  a  few  words.  I  have  in  my  arms  the 
still  breathing  skeleton  of  a  little  girl.  I  found  her  in  a 
street  behind  this  building  within  the  sound  of  the  voice 
of  your  speaker." 

He  paused  and  waved  to  John  Brown. 

"She  was  fighting  with  a  stray  cat  for  a  crust  of  bread 
in  a  garbage  pail.  I  hold  her  on  high." 

With  both  hands  he  lifted  the  dazed  thing  above  his 
head. 

"Look  at  her.  This  bundle  of  rags  God  made  in  the 
form  of  a  woman  to  be  the  mother  of  the  race.  She  has 
been  thrown  into  your  streets  to  starve.  Her  father  is  a 
workingman  whom  I  know.  For  six  months,  out  of  work, 
he  fought  with  death  and  hell,  and  hell  won.  He  is  now  in 
prison.  Her  mother,  unable  to  support  herself  and  child, 
sought  oblivion  in  drink.  She's  in  the  gutter  to-night. 
Her  brother  has  joined  a  gang  on  the  East  Side.  Her 
sister  is  a  girl  of  the  streets. 

"You  talk  to  me  of  Negro  Slavery  in  the  South?  Be- 
hold the  child  of  the  White  Wage  Slave  of  the  North! 
Why  are  you  cr}ring  over  the  poor  negro?  In  the  South 
the  master  owns  the  slave.  Here  the  master  owns  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 115 

job.  Down  there  the  master  feeds,  clothes  and  houses  his 
man  with  care.  Black  children  laugh  and  play.  Here  the 
master  who  owns  the  job  buys  labor  in  the  open  market. 
He  can  get  it  from  a  man  for  75  cents  a  day.  From  a 
woman  for  30  cents  a  day.  When  he  has  bought  the  last 
ounce  of  strength  they  can  give,  the  master  of  the  wage 
slave  kicks  him  out  to  freeze  or  starve  or  sink  into  crime. 

"You  tell  me  of  the  white  master's  lust  down  South? 
I  tell  you  of  the  white  master's  lust  for  the  daughters  of 
our  own  race. 

"I  see  a  foreman  of  a  factory  sitting  in  this  crowd. 
I've  known  him  for  ten  years.  I've  talked  with  a  score  of 
his  victims.  He  has  the  power  to  employ  or  discharge 
girls  of  all  ages  ranging  from  twelve  to  twenty-five.  Do 
you  think  a  girl  can  pass  his  bead  eyes  and  not  pay  for 
the  job  the  price  he  sees  fit  to  demand? 

"If  you  think  so,  you  don't  know  the  man.     I  do !" 

He  paused  and  the  stillness  of  death  followed.  Necks 
Were  craned  to  find  the  figure  of  the  foreman  crouching  in 
the  crowd.  The  speaker  was  not  after  the  individual.  His 
soul  was  aflame  with  the  cause  of  millions. 

"I  see  also  a  man  in  the  crowd  who  owns  a  row  of  tene- 
ments so  filthy,  so  dark,  so  reeking  with  disease  that  no 
Southern  master  would  allow  a  beast  to  live  in  them.  This 
hypocrite  has  given  to  John  Brown  to-night  a  contribu- 
tion of  money  for  the  downtrodden  black  man.  He  coined 
this  money  out  of  the  blood  of  white  men  and  women  who 
pay  the  rent  for  the  dirty  holes  in  which  they  die." 

A  moment  of  silence  that  was  pain  as  he  paused  and  a 
hundred  eyes  swept  the  room  in  search  of  the  man.  Again 
the  speaker  stood  without  a  sign.  He  merely  paused  to 
let  his  message  sink  in  the  hearts  of  his  hearers. 

"My  eyes  have  found  another  man  in  this  crowd  who  is 
an  employer  of  wage  slaves.  He  is  here  to  denounce  Chat- 


116 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

tel  Slavery  in  the  South  as  the  sum  of  all  villainies  while 
he  practises  a  system  of  wage  slavery  more  cruel  without 
a  thought  morally  wrong. 

"I  say  this  in  justice  to  the  man  because  I  know  him. 
He  hasn't  intelligence  enough  to  realize  what  he  is  doing. 
If  he  had  he  would  begin  by  abolishing  slavery  in  his  own 
household.  This  reformer  isn't  a  bad  man  at  heart.  He 
is  simply  an  honest  fool.  These  same  fools  in  England 
have  given  millions  to  abolish  black  slavery  in  the  Colonies 
and  leave  their  own  slaves  in  the  Spittalfield  slums  to 
breed  a  race  of  paupers  and  criminals.  Why  don't  a 
Buxton  or  a  Wilberforce  complain  of  the  White  Slavery 
at  home?  Because  it  is  indispensable  to  their  civilization. 
They  lose  nothing  in  freeing  negroes  in  distant  Colonies. 
They  would  lose  their  fortunes  if  they  dared  free  their 
own  white  brethren. 

"The  master  of  the  wage  slave  employs  his  victim  only 
when  he  needs  him.  The  Southern  master  supports  his 
man  whether  he  needs  him  or  not.  And  cares  for  him  when 
ill.  The  Abolitionist  proposes  to  free  the  black  slave 
from  the  whip.  Noble  work.  But  to  what  end  if  he  de- 
prives him  of  food?  He  escapes  the  lash  and  lands  in  a 
felon's  cell  or  climbs  the  steps  of  a  gallows. 

"Your  inspired  leader,  the  speaker  of  this  evening,  has 
found  his  most  enthusiastic  support  in  New  England. 

"No  doubt. 

"In  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  able-bodied  men  in  the  cot- 
ton mills  are  receiving  80  cents  a  day  for  ten  hours'  work. 
Women  are  receiving  32  cents  a  day  for  the  same.  At  no 
period  of  the  history  of  this  republic  has  it  been  possible 
for  a  human  being  to  live  in  a  city  and  reproduce  his  kind 
on  such  wages.  What  is  the  result?  The  racial  stock 
that  made  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  a  civilized 
state  is  perishing.  It  is  being  replaced  from  the  slums 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 117 

of  Europe.  The  standard  of  life  is  dragged  lower  with 
each  generation. 

"The  negro,  you  tell  me,  must  work  for  others  or  be 
flogged.  The  poor  white  man  at  your  door  must  work 
for  others  or  be  starved.  The  negro  is  subject  to  a  single 
master.  He  learns  to  know  him,  if  not  to  like  him.  There 
is  something  human  in  the  touch  of  their  lives.  The  poor 
white  man  here  is  the  slave  of  many  masters.  The  negro 
may  lead  the  life  of  a  farm  horse.  Your  wage  slave  is  a 
horse  that  hasn't  even  a  stable.  He  roams  the  street  in 
the  snows  of  winter.  He  is  ridden  by  anybody  who  wishes 
a  ride.  He  is  cared  for  by  nobody.  Our  rich  will  do 
anything  for  the  poor  except  to  get  off  their  backs.  The 
negro  has  a  master  in  sickness  and  health.  The  wage 
slave  is  honored  with  the  privilege  of  slavery  only  so  long 
as  he  can  work  ten  hours  a  day.  He  is  a  pauper  when  he 
can  toil  no  more. 

"Your  Abolitionist  has  fixed  his  eye  on  Chattel  Slavery 
in  the  South.  It  involves  but  three  million  five-hundred 
thousand  negroes.  The  system  of  wage  slavery  involves 
the  lives  of  twenty-five  million  white  men  and  women. 

"Slavery  was  not  abolished  in  the  North  on  moral 
grounds,  but  because,  as  a  system  of  labor  it  was  old- 
fashioned,  sentimental,  extravagant,  inefficient.  It  was 
abolished  by  the  masters  of  men,  not  by  the  men. 

"The  North  abolished  slavery  for  economy  in  produc- 
tion. There  was  no  sentiment  in  it.  Wage  slavery  has 
proven  itself  ten  times  more  cruel,  more  merciless,  more 
efficient.  The  Captain  of  Industry  has  seen  the  vision  of 
an  empire  of  wealth  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  He 
has  seen  that  the  master  who  cares  for  the  aged,  the  in- 
firm, the  sick,  the  lame,  the  halt  is  a  fool  who  must  lag 
behind  in  the  march  of  the  Juggernaut.  Only  a  fool  stops 
to  build  a  shelter  for  his  slave  when  he  can  kick  him  out 


118 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

in  the  cold  and  find  hundreds  of  fresh  men  to  take  his 
place. 

"Two  years  ago  the  Chief  of  Police  of  the  City  of  New 
York  took  the  census  of  the  poor  who  were  compelled  to 
live  in  cellars.  He  found  that  eighteen  thousand  five  hun- 
dred and  eighty-six  white  wage  slaves  lived  in  these  pest 
holes  under  the  earth.  One-thirteenth  of  the  population 
of  the  city  lives  thus  underground  to-day.  Hundreds  of 
these  cellars  are  near  the  river.  They  are  not  water- 
proof. Their  floors  are  mud.  When  the  tides  rise  the 
water  floods  these  noisome  holes.  The  bedding  and  furni- 
ture float.  Fierce  wharf  rats,  rising  from  their  dens,  dis- 
pute with  men,  women  and  children  the  right  to  the  shelves 
above  the  water  line. 

"There  are  cellars  devoted  entirely  to  lodging  where 
working  men  and  women  can  find  a  bed  of  straw  for  two 
cents  a  night — the  bare  dirt  for  one  cent.  Black  and 
white  men,  women  and  children,  are  mixed  in  one  dirty 
mass.  These  rooms  are  without  light,  without  air,  filled 
with  the  damp  vapors  of  mildewed  wood  and  clothing. 
They  swarm  with  every  species  of  vermin  that  infest  the 
animal  and  human  body.  The  scenes  of  depravity  that 
nightly  occur  in  these  lairs  of  beasts  are  beyond  words. 

"These  are  the  homes  provided  by  the  master  who  has 
established  'Free'  Labor  as  the  economic  weapon  with 
which  he  has  set  out  to  conquer  the  world. 

"And  he  is  conquering  with  it.  The  superior,  merciless 
power  of  this  system  as  an  economic  weapon  is  bound  to 
do  in  America  what  it  has  done  throughout  the  world. 
The  days  of  Chattel  Slavery  are  numbered.  The  Aboli- 
tionist is  wasting  his  breath,  or  worse.  He  is  raising  a 
feud  that  may  drench  this  nation  in  blood  in  a  senseless 
war  over  an  issue  that  is  settled  before  it's  raised. 

"Long  ago  the  economist  discovered  that  there  was  no 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 119 

vice  under  the  system  of  Chattel  Slavery  that  could  not  be 
more  freely  gratified  under  the  new  system  of  wage  slavery. 

"You  weep  because  the  negro  slave  must  serve  one  mas- 
ter. He  has  no  power  to  choose  a  new  one.  Do  not  for- 
get that  the  power  to  choose  a  new  master  carries  with  it 
power  to  discharge  the  wage  slave  and  hire  a  new  one. 
This  power  to  discharge  is  the  most  merciless  and  cruel 
tyranny  ever  developed  in  the  struggle  of  man  from  sava- 
gery to  civilization.  This  awful  right  places  in  the  hand 
of  the  master  the  power  of  life  and  death.  He  can  de- 
prive his  wage  slave  of  fuel,  food,  clothes,  shelter.  Life 
is  the  only  right  worth  having  if  its  exercise  is  put  into 
question.  A  starving  man  has  no  liberty.  The  word  can 
have  no  meaning.  He  must  live  first  or  he  cannot  be  a 
man. 

"The  wage  slave  is  producing  more  than  the  chattel 
slaves  ever  produced,  man  for  man,  and  is  receiving  less 
than  the  negro  slave  of  the  South  is  getting  for  his  labor 
to-day. 

"Your  system  of  wage  slavery  is  the  cunning  trick  by 
which  the  cruel  master  finds  that  he  can  deny  to  the  worker 
all  rights  he  ever  had  as  a  slave. 

'  "If  you  doubt  its  power,  look  at  this  bundle  of  rags  in 
my  hands  and  remember  that  there  are  five  thousand  half- 
starved  children  homeless  and  abandoned  in  the  streets  of 
this  city  to-night. 

"Find  for  me  one  ragged,  freezing,  starving,  black  baby 
in  the  South  and  I  will  buy  a  musket  to  equip  an  army  for 
its  invasion — " 

He  paused  a  moment,  turned  and  gazed  at  the  men  on 
the  platform  and  then  faced  the  crowd  in  a  final  burst  of 
triumphant  scorn. 

"Fools,  liars,  hypocrites,  clean  your  own  filthy  house 


120 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

before  you  weep  over  the  woes  of  negroes  who  are  singing 
while  they  toil — " 

A  man  on  an  end  seat  of  the  middle  aisle  suddenly 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  yelled: 

"Put  him  out !" 

Before  Gerrit  Smith  could  reach  Evans  with  a  gift  of 
five  dollars  for  the  sick  child  which  he  still  held  in  his 
arms  the  crowd  had  become  a  mob. 

They  hustled  the  labor  leader  into  the  street  and  told 
him  to  go  back  to  hell  where  he  came  from. 

Through  it  all  John  Brown  sat  on  the  platform  with 
his  blue-gray  eyes  fixed  in  space.  He  had  seen,  heard  or 
realized  nothing  that  had  passed.  His  mind  was  brooding 
over  the  plains  of  Kansas. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IT  was  October,  1854,  before  John  Brown's  three  sons, 
Owen,  Frederick  and  Salmon,  left  Ohio  for  their  long 
journey  to  Kansas.    In  April,  1855,  they  crossed  the 
Missouri  river  and  entered  the  Territory. 

John  Brown  decided  to  move  his  family  once  more  to 
North  Elba  before  going  West.  It  was  June  before  his 
people  reached  this  negro  settlement  in  Northern  New 
York.  He  placed  his  wife  and  children  in  an  unplastered, 
four-roomed  house.  Through  its  rough  weatherboarding 
the  winds  and  snows  of  winter  would  howl.  It  had  been 
hurriedly  thrown  together  by  his  son-in-law,  Henry 
Thompson.  Brown  had  never  stayed  on  one  of  his  little 
farms  long  enough  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos. 

His  restless  spirit  left  him  no  peace.  He  was  now  in 
Boston,  now  in  Springfield,  Massachusetts,  now  in  New 
York,  again  in  Ohio,  or  Illinois. 

He  was  giving  up  the  work  in  Ohio  to  follow  his  sons 
into  Kansas.  He  had  planned  to  move  there  two  years 
before  and  abandoned  the  idea.  He  had  at  last  fully  de- 
termined to  go. 

On  October  the  sixth,  his  party  reached  the  family  set- 
tlement at  Osawatomie.  With  characteristic  queerness 
the  old  man  did  not  enter  with  his  sons,  Oliver,  Jason  and 
John,  Jr.,  and  their  caravan.  He  stopped  alone  on  the 
roadside  two  miles  away  until  next  day. 

121 


122 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

The  party  on  arrival  had  plenty  of  guns,  swords  and 
ammunition  but  their  treasury  held  but  sixty  cents. 

The  family  settlement  were  living1  in  tents  around  which 
the  chill  autumn  winds  were  howling.  The  poor  crops 
they  had  raised  had  not  been  harvested.  The  men  were  ill 
and  discouraged.  There  was  little  meat,  except  game  and 
that  was  difficult  to  kill.  Their  only  bread  was  made  from 
corn  meal  ground  at  a  hand-turned  mill  two  miles  away. 

Brown's  sons,  who  had,  preceded  him,  had  lost  all  vigor. 
The  old  man  was  not  slow  to  see  the  way  out. 

The  situation  called  for  Action.  He  determined  to  get 
it.  He  immediately  plunged  into  Free  Soil  Politics  with- 
out pausing  to  build  his  first  shanty  against  the  conling 
rains  and  snows  of  a  terrible  winter. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  race  for  the  lands  of  the  new  Territories  of 
Kansas  and  Nebraska  was  on  to  the  finish.  Ne- 
braska was  far  North.  Kansas  only  interested  the 
Southerner.  The  frontiersmen  were  crossing  the  boundary 
lines  years  before  Congress  formally  opened  them  for  set- 
tlement. 

After  a  brief  stop  in  West  Tennessee  the  Doyles  had 
succeeded  in  reaching  Miami  County,  just  beyond  the 
Missouri  border,  in  1853.  They  had  settled  on  a  fertile 
quarter  section  on  the  Pottawattomie  Creek  in  a  small 
group  of  people  of  Southern  feeling. 

The  sun  of  a  new  world  had  begun  to  shine  at  last  for 
the  humble  but  ambitious  woman  who  had  borne  five  strong 
children  to  be  the  athletic  sons  and  daughters  of  a  free 
country.  Her  soul  rose  in  a  triumphant  song  that  made 
her  little  home  the  holy  of  holies  of  a  new  religion.  Her 
husband  was  the  lord  of  a  domain  of  fertile  land.  His 
fields  were  green  with  wheat.  She  loved  to  look  over  its 
acres  of  velvet  carpet.  In  June  her  man  and  three  stal- 
wart boys,  now  twenty,  eighteen  and  fourteen  years  of 
age,  would  swing  the  reaper  into  that  field  and  harvest  the 
waving  gold  without  the  aid  of  a  hired  laborer.  She  and 
her  little  girls  would  help  and  sing  while  they  toiled. 

There  was  no  debt  on  their  books.  They  had  horses, 
cows,  sheep,  pigs,  chickens,  ducks,  turkeys.  Their  crib 

123 


124 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

was  bulging  with  corn.  The  bins  in  their  barn  were  filled 
with  grain. 

Their  house  was  still  the  humble  cottage  of  the  prairie 
pioneer,  but  her  men  had  made  it  snug  and  warm  against 
the  winds  and  snows  of  winter.  Their  farm  had  plenty 
of  timber  on  the  Pottawattomie  Creek  which  flowed 
through  the  center  of  the  tract.  They  had  wood  for  their 
fires  and  logs  with  which  to  construct  their  stable  and 
outhouses. 

The  house  they  built  four-square  with  sharp  gables  pat- 
terned after  the  home  they  had  lost.  There  were  no  dor- 
mers in  the  attic,  but  two  windows  peeped  out  of  the  gable 
beside  the  stone  chimney  and  gave  light  and  air  to  the 
boys'  room  in  the  loft.  A  shed  extension  in  the  rear  was 
large  enough  for  both  kitchen  and  dining  room. 

The  home  stood  close  beside  the  creek,  and  the  murmur 
of  its  waters  made  music  for  a  busy  mother's  heart. 

There  was  no  porch  over  the  front  door.  But  her  boys 
had  built  a  lattice  work  that  held  a  labyrinth  of  morning 
glories  in  the  summer.  She  had  found  the  gorgeous  wild 
flowers  blooming  on  the  prairies  and  made  a  hedge  of  them 
for  the  walks.  They  were  sending  their  shoots  up  through 
the  soil  now  to  meet  the  sun  of  spring.  The  warm  rays 
had  already  begun  to  clothe  the  prairie  world  with  beauty 
and  fragrance. 

The  mother  never  tired  of  taking  her  girls  on  the  hill 
beyond  the  creek  and  watching  the  men  at  work  on  the 
wide  sweeping  plains  that  melted  into  the  skyline  miles 
beyond.  Something  in  its  vast  silence,  in  its  message  of 
the  infinite,  soothed  her  spirit.  All  her  life  in  the  East 
she  had  been  fighting  against  losing  odds.  These  wide 
breathing  plains  had  stricken  the  shackles  from  her  soul. 

She  was  free. 

Sometimes  she  felt  like  shouting  it  into  the  sky.    Some- 


^ THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 125 

times  she  knelt  among  the  trees  and  thanked  God  for  His 
mercy  in  giving  her  the  new  lease  of  life. 

The  new  lease  on  life  had  depth  and  meaning  because 
slie  lived  and  breathed  in  her  children.  Her  man  had  a 
man's  chance  at  last.  Her  boys  had  a  chance. 

The  one  thing  that  gave  her  joy  day  and  night  was  the 
consciousness  of  living  among  the  men  and  women  of  her 
own  race.  There  was  not  a  negro  in  the  county,  bond  or 
free,  and  she  fervently  prayed  that  there  never  would  be. 
Now  that  they  were  free  from  the  sickening  dread  of  such 
competition  in  life,  she  had  no  hatred  of  the  race.  As  a 
free  white  woman,  the  mother  of  free  white  men  and  women, 
all  she  asked  was  freedom  from  the  touch  of  an  inferior. 
She  had  always  felt  instinctively  that  this  physical  con- 
tact was  poison.  She  breathed  deeply  for  the  first  time. 

There  was  just  one  cloud  on  the  horizon  which  threat- 
ened her  peace  and  future.  Her  husband,  after  the  fash- 
ion of  his  kind,  in  the  old  world  and  the  new,  had  always 
held  political  opinions  and  had  dared  to  express  them 
without  fear  or  favor.  In  Virginia  his  vote  was  sought  by 
the  leaders  of  the  county.  He  had  been  poor  but  he  had 
influence  because  he  dared  to  think  for  himself. 

He  was  a  Southern  born  white  man,  and  he  held  the 
convictions  of  his  birthright.  He  had  never  stopped  to 
analyze  these  faiths.  He  believed  in  them  as  he  believed 
in  God.  They  were  things  not  to  be  questioned. 

Doyle  had  not  hesitated  to  express  his  opinions  in  Kan- 
sas as  in  Virginia.  The  few  Southern  settlers  on  the 
Pottawattomie  Creek  were  sympathetic  and  no  trouble  had 
come.  But  the  keen  ears  of  the  woman  had  caught  ominous 
rumors  on  the  plains. 

The  father  and  mother  sat  on  a  rude  board  settee  which 
John  had  built.  The  boy  had  nailed  it  against  a  black 
jack  close  beside  the  bend  of  the  creek  where  the  ripple 


126 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

of  the  hurrying  waters  makes  music  when  the  stream  is 
low  and  swells  into  a  roar  when  gorged  by  the  rains. 

The  woman's  face  was  troubled  as  she  listened  to  the 
waters.  She  studied  the  strong  lines  of  her  husband's 
neck,  shoulders  and  head,  with  a  touch  of  pride  and  fear. 
His  tongue  was  long  in  a  political  argument.  He  had  a 
fatal  gift  of  speech.  He  could  say  witty,  bitter  things  if 
stung  by  an  opponent. 

She  spoke  with  deep  seriousness : 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  so  much,  John — " 

"And  why  not?" 

"You'll  get  in  trouble." 

"Well,  I've  been  in  trouble  most  of  my  life.  There's  no 
use  livin'  at  all,  if  you  live  in  fear.  I  ain't  never  knowed 
what  it  is  to  be  afraid.  And  I'm  too  old  to  learn." 

"They  say,  the  Northern  men  that's  passin'  into  the 
Territory  have  got  guns  and  swords.  And  they  say  they're 
goin*  to  use  'em.  They  outnumber  the  Southerners  five 
to  one." 

"What  are  they  goin'  to  do  with  their  guns  and 
swords  ?  Cut  a  man's  tongue  out  because  he  dares  to  say 
who  he's  goin'  to  vote  for  next  election?" 

"You  don't  have  to  talk  so  loud  anyhow,"  his  wife  per- 
sisted. 

"Ole  woman,  I'm  free,  white,  and  twenty-one.  I've  been 
a-votin'  and  watchin'  the  elections  in  this  country  for 
twenty  odd  years.  Ef  I've  got  to  tiptoe  around,  ashamed 
of  my  raisin',  and  ashamed  of  my  principles,  I  don't  want 
to  live.  I  wouldn't  be  fit  ter  live." 

"I  want  ye  to  live." 

"You  wouldn't  want  to  live  with  a  coward." 

"A  brave  man  can  hold  his  tongue,  John." 

"I  ain't  never  learnt  the  habit,  Honey." 

"Won't  you  begin?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  127 

"Ye  can't  learn  a  old  dog  new  tricks — can  they,  Jack?" 

He  stroked  his  dog's  friendly  nose  suddenly  thrust 
against  his  knee. 

"You  know,  Honey,"  he  went  on  laughingly,  "we 
brought  this  yellow  pup  from  Old!  Virginia.  He's  the  best: 
rabbit  and  squirrel  dog  in  the  county.  I've  taught  him 
to  stalk  prairie  chickens  out  here.  I'd  be  ashamed  to 
look  my  dog  in  the  face  ef  I  wuz  ter  tuck  my  tail  between 
my  legs  and  run  every  time  a  fool  blows  off  his  moutK 
about  the  South — " 

He  stopped  and  laughed,  his  white  teeth  gleaming1 
through  his  fine  beard. 

"Don't  you  worry,  Honey.  Those  fields  are  too  putty 
this  spring  for  worrying.  We're  goin'  to  send  Colonel 
Lee  our  last  payment  this  fall  and  we'll  not  owe  a  cent  to 
any  man  on  earth." 


CHAPTER  XV 

JOHN  BROWN  plunged  into  politics  in  Kansas  under 
the  impression  that  his  will  could  dominate  the  rank 
and  file  of  the  Northern  party.  He  quickly  faced 
the  fact  that  the  frontiersmen  had  opinions  of  their  own. 
And  they  were  not  in  the  habit  of  taking  orders  from  a 
master. 

His  hopes  were  raised  to  their  highest  at  the  Free  State 
Convention  which  met  at  Lawrence  on  Monday,  the 
twenty-fifth  of  June,  1855.  This  Convention  spoke  in 
tones  that  stirred  Brown's  admiration. 

It  meant  Action. 

They  elected  him  a  vice  president  of  the  body.  He  had 
expected  to  be  made  president.  However,  his  leadership 
was  recognized.  All  he  needed  was  the  opportunity  to  take 
the  Action  on  which  his  mind  had  long  been  fixed.  The 
moment  blood  began  to  flow,  there  would  be  but  one  leader. 
Of  that,  he  felt  sure.  He  could  bide  his  time. 

The  Convention  urged  the  people  to  unite  on  the  one 
issue  of  making  Kansas  a  Free  Soil  State.  They  called 
on  every  member  of  the  Shawnee  Legislature  who  held 
Free  Soil  views  to  resign  from  that  body,  although  it 
had  been  recognized  by  the  National  Government  as  the 
duly  authorized  law-making  assembly  of  the  Territory. 
Th^v  denounced  this  Legislature  as  the  creature  of  set- 
tlers from  Missouri  who  had  crowded  over  the  border 

128 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 129 

before  the  Northerners  could  reach  their  destination. 
They  urged  all  people  to  refuse  to  obey  every  law  passed 
by  the  body. 

The  final  resolution  was  one  inspired  by  Brown  himself, 
It  was  a  bold  declaration  that  if  their  opponents  wished 
to  fight,  the  Northerners  were  READY!  The  challenge 
was  unmistakable.  Brown  felt  that  Action  was  imminent. 
Only  a  set  of  poltroons  would  fail  to  accept  the  gauge  of 
battle  thus  flung  in  their  faces. 

To  his  amazement  the  challenge  was  not  received  by  the 
rank  and  file  of  the  Free  Soil  Party  with  enthusiasm. 
Most  of  these  Northerners  had  moved  to  Kansas  as  bona 
fide  settlers.  They  came  to  build  homes  for  the  women 
they  had  left  behind.  They  came  to  rush  their  shacks  into 
shape  to  receive  their  loved  ones.  They  had  been  fur- 
nished arms  and  ammunition  by  enthusiastic  friends  and 
politicians  in  the  older  States.  And  they  had  eagerly 
accepted  the  gifts.  There  were  droves  of  Indians  still 
roaming  the  plains.  There  were  dangers  to  be  faced. 

The  Southern  ruffians  of  whom  they  had  heard  so  mucli 
had  not  materialized.  Although  the  Radical  wing  of  the 
Northern  Party  had  made  Lawrence  its  Capital  and 
through  their  paper,  the  Herald  of  Freedom,  issued  chal- 
lenge after  challenge  to  their  enemies. 

The  Northern  settlers  began  to  divide  into  groups 
whose  purposes  were  irreconcilable.  Six  different  conven- 
tions met  in  Lawrence  on  or  before  the  fifteenth  of  August. 
Each  one  of  these  conventions  was  divided  in  councils. 
In  each  the  cleavage  between  the  Moderates  and  Radicals 
became  wider. 

Out  of  the  six  conventions  of  Northerners  at  Lawrence, 
out  of  resolution  and  counter  resolution,  finally  emerged 
the  accepted  plan  of  a  general  convention  at  Big  Springs. 

The  gathering  was  remarkable  for  the  surprise  it  gave 


130 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

to  the  Radicals  of  whom  Brown  was  the  leader.  The 
Convention  adopted  the  first  platform  of  the  Free  State 
party  and  nominated  ex-Governor  Reeder  as  its  candidate 
for  delegate  to  Congress. 

For  the  first  time  the  hard-headed  frontiersmen  who 
came  to  Kansas  for  honest  purposes  spoke  in  plain  lan- 
guage. The  first  resolution  settled  the  Slavery  issue.  It 
declared  that  Slavery  was  a  curse  and  that  Kansas  should 
be  free  of  this  curse.  But  that  as  a  matter  of  common 
sense  they  would  consent  to  any  reasonable  adjustment  in 
regard  to  the  few  slaves  that  had  already  been  brought 
into  the  Territory. 

Brown  and  his  followers  demanded  that  Slavery  should 
be  denounced  as  a  crime,  not  a  curse,  as  the  sum  of  all 
villainies  and  the  Southern  master  as  a  vicious  and  wilful 
criminal.  The  mild  expression  of  the  platform  on  this 
issue  wrought  the  old  man's  anger  to  white  heat.  The 
offer  to  compromise  with  the  slave  holder  already  in  Kan- 
sas he  repudiated  with  scorn.  But  a  more  bitter  draught 
was  still  in  store  for  him. 

The  platform  provided  that  Kansas  should  be  a  Free 
White  State.  And  in  no  uncertain  words  made  plain  that 
the  accent  should  be  on  the  word  WHITE.  The  document 
demanded  the  most  stringent  laws  excluding  ALL  NE- 
GROES, BOND  AND  FREE,  forever  from  the  Territory. 

The  old  man  did  not  hear  this  resolution  when  read. 
So  deep  was  his  brooding  anger,  the  words  made  no  im- 
pression. Their  full  import  did  not  dawn  on  him  until 
John  Brown,  Jr.,  leaned  close  and  whispered : 

"Did  you  hear  that?" 

The  father  stirred  from  his  reverie  and  turned  a  dazed 
look  on  his  son. 

"Hear  what?" 

"The  infamous  resolution  demanding  that  Kansas  be 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 131 

made  a  white  man's  country  and  no  negro,  bond  or  free, 
shall  ever  be  allowed  to  enter  it?" 

The  hard  mouth  twitched  with  scorn.  And  his  jaws 
came  together  with  a  snap. 

"It  doesn't  matter  what  they  add  to  their  first  maudlin 
plank  on  tire  Slarery  issue." 

"Will  you  sit  here  and  see  this  vile  thing  done  ?" 

A  look  of  weariness  came  over  the  stern  face  with  its 
deep-cut  lines. 

"It's  a  waste  of  words  to  talk  to  politicians." 

John,  Jr.  was  grasping  at  the  next  resolution  whicK 
was  one  surpassing  belief.  He  rubbed  his  ears  to  see  if 
he  were  really  hearing  correctly. 

This  resolution  denounced  the  charge  that  they  were 
Radicals  at  all.  It  denounced  the  attempt  of  any  man 
to  interfere  by  violence  with  slaves  or  Slavery  where  pro- 
tected by  the  supreme  law  of  the  land.  It  repudiated  as 
stale  and  ridiculous  the  charge  of  Abolitionism  against 
them.  And  declared  that  such  an  accusation  is  without 
a  shadow  of  truth  to  support  it. 

Charles  Stearns,  the  representative  of  the  New  England 
Society,  leaped  to  his  feet  and  denounced  the  platform  in 
withering  tones.  He  fairly  shrieked  his  final  sentence : 

"All  honest  anti-slavery  men,  here  and  elsewhere,  will 
spit  on  your  platform !" 

He  paused  and  faced  the  leaders  who  had  drafted  it. 

"And  all  pro-slavery  men  must  forever  despise  the  base 
sycophants  who  originated  it!" 

John  Brown,  Jr.,  applauded.    The  crowd  laughed. 

Old  John  Brown  had  paid  no  further  heed  to  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  Convention.  His  eyelids  were  drawn  half 
down.  Only  pin  points  of  glittering  light  remained. 

The  resolutions  were  adopted  by  an  overwhelming  ma- 
jority. 


132 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

In  the  East,  Horace  Greeley  in  the  Tribwne  reluctantly 
accepted  the  platform:  "Why  free  blacks  should  be  ex- 
cluded it  is  difficult  to  understand ;  but  if  Slavery  can  be 
kept  out  by  compromise  of  that  sort,  we  shall  not  com- 
plain. An  error  of  this  character  may  be  corrected ;  but 
let  Slavery  obtain  a  foothold  there  and  it  is  not  so  easily 
removed." 

Brown's  hopes  were  to  be  still  further  dashed  by  the 
persistence  with  which  the  leaders  of  this  Convention  fol- 
lowed up  the  program  of  establishing  a  white  man's  coun- 
try on  the  free  plains  of  the  West. 

When  the  Convention  met  at  Topeka  on  the  twenty- 
third  of  October,  to  fornl  a  Constitution,  the  determina- 
tion to  exclude  all  negroes  from  Kansas  was  again  sus- 
tained. The  majority  were  finally  badgered  into  submit- 
ting the  issue  to  a  separate  vote  of  the  people.  On  the 
fifteenth  of  December,  the  Northern  settlers  voted  on  it 
and  the  question  was  settled. 

Negroes  were  excluded  by  a  three-fourths  majority. 

Three-fourths  of  the  Free  State  settlers  were  in  favor 
of  a  white  man's  country  and  the  heaviest  vote  against  the 
admission  of  negroes  was  polled  in  Lawrence  and  Topeka 
where  the  Radicals  had  from  the  first  made  the  most 
noise. 

The  Northern  men  who  had  come  to  Kansas  merely  to 
oppose  the  extension  of  Slavery  were  in  a  hopeless  mi- 
nority in  their  own  party.  The  American  voters  still  had 
too  much  common  sense  to  be  led  into  a  position  to  pro- 
voke civil  war. 

John  Brown  spent  long  hours  in  prayer  after  the  final 
vote  on  the  negro  issue  had  been  counted.  He  denounced 
the  leaders  in  politics  in  Kansas  as  trimmers,  time  servers, 
sycophants  and  liars.  He  walked  beneath  the  star-sown 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 133 

skies  through  the  night.  He  wrestled  with  his  God  for  a 
vision. 

There  must  be  a  way  to  Action. 

He  rose  from  prayer  at  dawn  after  a  sleepless  night  ancf 
called  for  his  sons,  Owen,  Oliver,  Frederick  and  Salmon, 
to  get  ready  for  a  journey.  He  had  received  a  first  hint 
of  the  will  of  God.  He  believed  it  might  lead  to  the  way. 

He  organized  a  surveyor's  party  and  disguised  himself 
as  a  United  States  Surveyor.  He  had  brought  to  Kansas 
a  complete  outfit  for  surveying  land.  He  instructed  Owen 
and  Frederick  to  act  as  chain  carriers,  Salmon  as  axeman 
and  Oliver  as  marker.  He  reached  the  little  Southern  set- 
tlement on  the  Pottawattomie  Creek  the  fifteenth  of  May. 

He  planted  his  compass  on  the  bank  of  the  creek  near 
the  Doyles'  house  and  proceeded  to  run  a  base  line. 

The  father  and  three  boys  were  in  the  fields  at  work 
beyond  the  hill. 

He  raised  his  compass  and  followed  the  chainman  to  the 
Doyles'  door.  The  mother  and  little  girl  trudged  behind, 
delighted  with  the  diversion  of  the  party,  so  rare  on  the 
lonely  prairies.  Little  could  they  dream  the  grim  deed 
that  was  shaping  in  the  soul  of  the  Surveyor. 

When  they  reached  the  house  she  turned  to  the  old 
man  with  Southern  courtesy: 

"Won't  you  come  in,  sir,  and  rest  a  few  minutes?" 

The  strange,  blue-gray  eyes  glanced  restlessly  toward 
the  hill  and  he  signaled  his  sons: 

"Rest  awhile,  boys." 

Frederick  and  Oliver  sat  down  on  a  pile  of  logs.  Sal- 
mon and  Owen,  at  a  nod  from  their  father,  wandered  care- 
lessly toward  the  stable  and  outhouses. 

Owen  found  the  dog  Doyle  had  brought  from  Virginia 
and  took  pains  to  make  friends  with  him. 

Brown's  keen,  restless  eyes  carefully  inspected  the  door, 


134 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

its  fastenings  and  the  strength  of  its  hinges.  The  iron  of 
the  hinges  was  flimsy.  The  fastening  was  the  old-fashioned 
wooden  shutters  hung  outside  and  closed  with  a  single 
slide.  He  noted  with  a  quick  glance  that  there  was  no 
cross  bar  of  heavy  wood  nor  any  sockets  in  which  such  a 
bar  could  be  dropped. 

The  windows  were  small.  There  was  no  glass.  Solid 
wooden  shutters  hung  outside  and  closed  with  a  single 
hook  and  eye  for  fastenings. 

The  sun  was  setting  before  the  surveying  party  stopped 
work.  They  had  run  a  line  close  to  the  house  of  every 
Southern  settler  on  the  Pottawattomie  Creek,  noting  care- 
fully every  path  leading  to  each  house.  They  had  care- 
fully mapped  the  settlement  and  taken  a  census  of  every 
male  inhabitant  and  every  dog  attached  to  each  house. 
They  also  made  an  inventory  of  the  horses,  saddles  and 
bridles. 

Having  completed  their  strange  errand,  they  packed 
their  instruments  and  rode  toward  Osawatomie. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WITH  the  opening  of  the  Territory  of  Kansas  the 
first  Regiment  of  United  States  Cavalry,  com- 
manded by  Colonel  E.  V.  Sumner,  had  been  trans- 
ferred to  Fort  Leavenworth. 

The  life  of  the  barracks'  was  young1  Lieutenant  J.  E.  B. 
Stuart. 

Colonel  Lee  had  been  transferred  from  West  Point  to 
the  command  of  the  Second  United  States  Cavalry  on  the 
Mexican  Border  at  the  same  time  that  Stuart's  regiment 
was  moved  to  Kansas. 

The  rollicking  song-loving,  banjo-playing  Virginian  had 
early  distinguished  himself  as  an  Indian  fighter.  He  had 
been  dangerously  wounded,  but  recovered  with  remarkable 
rapidity.  His  perfect  health  and  his  clean  habits  stood 
him  in  good  stead  on  the  day  an  Indian's  bullet  crashed 
through  his  breast. 

He  was  a  favorite  with  officers  and  men.  As  a  cadet 
he  had  given  promise  of  the  coming  soldier.  At  the  Acad- 
emy he  was  noted  for  his  strict  attendance  to  every  mili- 
tary duty,  and  his  erect,  soldierly  bearing.  He  was 
particularly  noted  for  an  almost  thankful  acceptance  of 
a  challenge  to  fight  any  cadet  who  might  feel  himself  ag- 
grieved. 

135 


136 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

The  boys  called  him  a  "Bible  Class  Man."  He  was 
never  known  to  swear  or  drink.  They  also  called  him 
"Beauty  Stuart,"  in  good  natured  boyish  teasing. 

He  was  the  best-looking  cadet  of  his  class,  as  he  was 
the  best-looking  young  officer  of  his  regiment.  His  hair 
was  a  reddish  brown.  His  eyes  a  deep  steel  blue,  his  voice 
clear  and  ringing. 

In  his  voice  the  soul  of  the  man  spoke  to  his  fellows. 
He  was  always  singing — always  eager  for  a  frolic  of  inno- 
cent fun.  Above  all,  he  was  always  eager  for  a  frolic 
with  a  pretty  girl.  He  played  both  the  banjo  and  the 
guitar  and  little  he  cared  for  the  gathering  political  feud 
which  old  John  Brown  and  his  sons  had  begun  to  foment 
on  the  frontier. 

As  a  Southerner  the  struggle  did  not  interest  him.  It 
was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  the  country  would  be  set- 
tled by  Northern  immigrants.  They  were  pouring  into 
the  Territory  in  endless  streams.  A  colony  from  New 
Haven,  Connecticut,  one  hundred  strong,  had  just  settled 
sixty  miles  above  Lawrence  on  the  Kansas  River.  They 
knew  how  to  plow  and  plant  their  fields  and  they  had 
modern  machinery  with  which  to  do  it.  The  few  Southern- 
ers who  came  to  Kansas  were  poorly  equipped.  Lawrence 
was  crowded  with  immigrants  from  every  section  of  the 
North.  The  fields  were  white  with  their  tents.  A  company 
from  Ohio,  one  from  Connecticut,  and  one  from  New 
Hampshire  were  camping  just  outside  the  town.  Daily 
their  exploring  committees  went  forth  to  look  at  locali- 
ties. Daily  new  companies  poured  in. 

Stuart  let  them  pour  and  asked  no  questions  about  their 
politics.  He  was  keen  on  one  thing  only — the  pretty  girls 
that  might  be  among  them. 

When  exploring  parties  came  to  Fort  Leavenworth,  the 
young  Lieutenant  inspected  them  with  an  eye  single  to  a 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 137 

possible  dance  for  the  regiment.  The  number  of  pretty 
girls  was  not  sufficient  to  cause  excitement  among  the  offi- 
cers as  yet.  The  daughters  of  the  East  were  not  anxious 
to  explore  Kansas  at  this  moment.  The  Indians  were  still 
troublesome  at  times. 

A  rumor  spread  through  the  barracks  that  the  prettiest 
girl  in  Kansas  had  just  arrived  at  Fort  Riley,  sixty-eight 
miles  beyond  Topeka.  Colonel  Phillip  St.  George  Cooke 
of  Virginia  commanded  the  Fort  and  his  daughter  Flora 
had  ventured  all  the  way  from  Harper's  Ferry  to  the 
plains  to  see  her  beloved  daddy. 

The  news  thrilled  Stuart.  He  found  an  excuse  to  carry 
a  message  from  Colonel  Sumner  to  Colonel  Cooke. 

He  expected  nothing  serious,  of  course.  Every  daugh- 
ter of  Virginia  knew  how  to  flirt.  She  would  know  that 
he  understood  this  from  the  start.  It  would  be  nip  and 
tuck  between  the  Virginia  boy  and  the  Virginia  girl. 

He  had  always  had  such  easy  sailing  in  his  flirtations 
he  hoped  Miss  Flora  would  prove  a  worthy  antagonist. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  Colonel  Cooke  asked  the  gallant 
young  Virginian  to  stay  as  his  guest. 

"What'll  Colonel  Sumner  say,  sir?"  Stuart  laughed. 

"Leave  Sumner  to  me." 

"You'll  guarantee  immunity?" 

"Guaranteed." 

"Thank  you,  Colonel  Cooke,  I'll  stay." 

Stuart  could  hardly  wait  until  the  hour  of  luncK  to  meet 
the  daughter.  He  was  impatient  to  ask  where  she  was. 
The  Colonel  guessed  his  anxiety  and  hastened  to  relieve  it, 
or  increase  it. 

"You  haven't  met  my  daughter,  Lieutenant?"  he  asked 
casually. 

"I  haven't  that  honor,  Colonel,  but  this  gives  me  the 
happy  opportunity." 


138 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

He  said  it  with  such  boyish  fun  in  his  ringing  voice 
that  Cooke  laughed  in  spite  of  his  desire  to  maintain  the 
strictest  dignity.  He  half  suspected  that  the  young  officer 
might  meet  his  match  in  more  ways  than  one. 

"She'll  be  in  at  noon,"  the  Commander  remarked. 
"Off  riding  with  one  of  the  boys." 

"Of  course,"  Stuart  sighed. 

He  began  to  scent  a  battle  and  his  spirits  rose.  He 
went  to  his  room,  took  his  banjo  out  of  its  old  leather 
strapped  case  and  tuned  it  carefully.  He  made  up  his 
mind  to  give  the  young  buck  out  riding  with  her  the  fight 
of  his  life  while  there. 

He  heard  the  ring  of  the  girl's  laughter1  as  she  bade  her 
escort  goodbye  at  the  door.  He  started  to  go  down  at 
once  and  begin  the  struggle.  Something  in  the  ring  of  her 
young  voice  stopped  him.  There  was  a  joyous  strength 
in  it  that  was  disconcerting.  A  girl  who  laughed  like  that 
had  poise.  She  was  an  individual.  He  liked,  too,  the  tones 
of  her  voice  before  he  had  seen'  her. 

This  struck  him  as  odd.  Never  in  his  life  before  had 
he  liked  a  girl  before  meeting  her  just  for  a  tone  quality 
in  her  voice.  This  one  haunted  him  the  whole  time  he  was 
changing  his  uniform. 

He  decided  to  shave  again.  He  had  shaved  the  night 
before  very  late.  He  didn't  like  the  suggestion  of  red 
stubble  on  his  face.  It  might  put  him  at  a  disadvantage. 

He  resented  the  name  of  Beauty  Stuart  and  yet  down 
in  his  man  soul  he  knew  that  he  was  vain. 

He  began  to  wonder  if  she  were  blonde  or  brunette, 
short  or  tall,  petite  or  full,  blue  eyes  or  brown  ?  She  must 
be  pretty.  Her  father  was  a  man  of  delicate  and  finely 
marked  features — the  type  of  Scotch-Irish  gentlemen  who 
had  made  the  mountains  of  Virginia  famous  for  pretty 
women  and  brainy  men. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 139 

He  heard  her  softly  playing  a  piano  and  wondered  how 
on  earth  they  had  ever  moved  a  piano  to  this  far  outpost 
of  civilization.  The  cost  was  enormous.  But  the  motive 
of  her  father  in  making  such  a  sacrifice  to  please  her  was 
more  important.  His  love  for  her  must  be  unusual.  It 
piqued  his  interest  and  roused  again  his  impulse  for  a 
battle  royal  with  another  elusive  daughter  of  his  native 
state. 

He  made  up  his  mind  not  to  wait  for  the  call  to  lunch. 
He  would  walk  boldly  into  the  reception  room  and  intro- 
duce himself.  She  knew  he  was  there,  of  course. 

At  the  first  sound  of  his  footstep,  her  hand  paused  on 
the  keys  and  she  turned  to  greet  him,  rising  quickly,  and 
easily. 

The  vision  which  greeted  Stuart  stunned  him  for  a 
moment.  A  perfect  blonde  with  laughing  blue  eyes,  ex- 
actly the  color  of  his  own,  slim  and  graceful,  a  smile  that 
was  sunlight,  and  a  step  that  was  grace  incarnate. 

And  yet  her  beauty  was  not  the  thing  that  stunned  him. 
He  had  discounted  her  good  looks  from  a  study  of  her 
father's  delicate  face.  It  was  the  glow  of  a  charming 
personality  that  disarmed  him  at  the  first  glance. 

She  extended  a  slender  hand  with  a  smile. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  meet  you,  Lieutenant  Stuart." 

He  took  it  awkwardly,  and  blushed.  He  mumbled  when 
he  spoke  and  was  conscious  that  his  voice  was  thick. 

"And  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Flora." 

They  had  each  uttered  the  most  banal  greeting.  Yet 
the  way  in  which  the  words  were  spoken  was  significant. 

Never  in  his  life  had  he  heard  a  voice  so  gentle,  so  ten- 
der, so  appealing  in  its  sincerity.  All  desire  to  flirt,  to 
match  wit  against  a  charming  girl  vanished.  He  felt  a 
resistless  impulse  to  protect  her  from  any  fool  who  would 
dare  try  to  start  a  flirtation.  She  was  too  straightfor- 


140 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

ward,  too  earnest,  too  sincere.  She  seemed  a  part  of  his 
own  inmost  thought  and  life. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  while  she  was  the  pet  of  her 
father,  she  was  unspoiled.  Stuart  caught  himself  at  last 
staring  at  her  in  a  dazed,  foolish  way.  He  pulled  himself 
together  and  wondered  how  long  he  had  held  her  hand. 

"Won't  you  play  for  me,  Miss  Flora?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"If  you'll  sing,"  she  laughed. 

"How  do  you  know  I  sing?" 

"How  do  you  know  I  play?" 

"I  heard  you." 

"I  heard  you,  too." 

"Upstairs?" 

"Just  before  you  came  clown." 

"I  had  no  idea  I  was  so  loud." 

"Your  voice  rings.    It  has  carrying  power." 

He  started  to  say :  "I  hope  you  like  it,"  and  something 
inside  whispered :  "Behave." 

She  took  the  seat  at  the  piano  and  touched  the  keys 
with  an  easy,  graceful  movement.  She  looked  up  and 
smiled.  Her  eyes  blinded  him.  They  were  so  bright  and 
friendly. 

"What  will  you  sing?" 

"Annie  Laurie,"  he  answered  promptly. 

Stuart  sang  with  deep  tenderness  and  passion.  He  out- 
did himself.  And  he  knew  it.  He  never  knew  before  that 
he  could  sing  so  well. 

On  the  last  stanza  the  girl  softly  joined  a  low,  sweet 
voice  with  his.  As  the  final  note  died  away  in  Stuart's 
voice,  hers  lingered  a  caress.  The  man's  heart  leaped  at 
its  tenderness. 

"Why  didn't  you  join  me  at  first?"  he  asked. 

"Nobody  axed  me,  sir!"  she  said. 

"Well,  I  ask  you  now — come  on — we'll  do  it  together!" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 141 

"All  right,"  was  the  jolly  answer. 

They  sang  it  in  duet  to  the  soft  accompaniment  which 
she  played. 

Never  had  he  heard  such  singing  by  a  slip  of  a  girl. 
Her  voice  was  rich,  full  of  feeling  and  caressing  tender- 
ness. He  felt  his  soul  dissolving  in  its  liquid  depths. 

Throughout  the  lunch  he  caught  himself  staring  at  her 
in  moments  of  long  silence.  He  had  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  lost  his  capacity  for  silly  gaiety. 

He  roused  himself  with  an  effort,  and  wondered  what 
on  earth  had  come  over  him.  He  was  too  deeply  interested 
in  studying  the  girl  to  attempt  to  analyze  his  own  feel- 
ings. It  never  occurred  to  him  to  try.  He  was  too  busy 
watching  the  tender  light  in  her  eyes. 

He  wondered  if  she  could  be  engaged  to  the  fellow  she 
went  riding  with?  He  resented  the  idea.  Of  course  not. 
And  when  he  remembered  the  care-free  ring  to  her  laugh- 
ter when  she  said  goodbye,  he  was  reassured.  No  girl 
could  laugh  a  goodbye  like  that  to  a  man  she  loved.  The 
tone  was  too  poised  and  impersonal. 

He  asked  her  to  ride  with  him  that  afternoon. 

"On  one  condition,"  she  smiled. 

"What?" 

"That  you  bring  your  banjo  and  play  for  me  when  I 
ask  you." 

"How'd  you  know  I  had  a  banjo?" 

"Caught  the  final  twang  as  you  tuned  it  on  my  ar- 
rival." 

"I'll  bring  it  if  you  like." 

"Please." 

He  hurried  to  his  room,  placed  the  banjo  in  its  case 
and  threw  it  over  his  shoulder.  She  had  promised  to  be 
ready  in  ten  minutes  and  have  the  horses  at  the  door. 

She  was  ready  in  eight  minutes,  and  leaped  into  the 


142 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

saddle  before  he  could  reach,  her  side.  For  the  life  of  him 
he  couldn't  keep  his  eye  off  her  exquisite  figure. 

She  rode  without  effort.  She  had  been  born  in  the 
saddle. 

She  led  him  along  the  military  road  to  the  juncture  of 
the  Smoky  Hill  and  Republican  rivers.  A  lover  at  the 
Fort  had  built  a  seat  against  a  huge  rock  that  crowned 
the  hill  overlooking  the  fork  of  the  rivers. 

Stuart  hitched  the  horses  and  found  the  seat.  For 
two  hours  he  played  his  banjo  and  they  sang  old  songs 
together. 

"I  love  a  banjo — don't  you?"  she  asked  enthusiasti- 
cally. 

"It's  my  favorite  music.  There's  no  sorrow  in  a  banjo. 
You  can  make  it  laugh.  You  can  make  it  shout.  You 
can  make  it  growl  and  howl  and  snarl  and  fight.  But  you 
can't  make  a  banjo  cry.  There  are  no  tears  in  it.  The 
joy  of  living  is  all  a  banjo  knows.  Why  should  we  try 
to  know  anything  else  anyhow?" 

"We  shouldn't,"  she  answered  soberly.  "The  other 
things  will  come  without  invitation  sometime." 

For  an  hour  they  talked  of  the  deep  things  of  life.  He 
told  of  his  high  ambitions  of  service  for  his  country  in  the 
dark  days  that  might  come  in  the  future.  Of  the  kind  of 
soldier  the  nation  would  need,  and  the  ideal  he  had  set 
for  his  soul  of  truth  and  honor,  of  high  thinking  and  clean 
living  in  the  temptations  that  come  to  a  soldier's  daily 
life. 

And  she  applauded  his  ideals.  She  told  him  they  were 
big  and  fine  and  she  was  proud  of  him  as  a  true  son  of  Old 
Virginia. 

The  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  dim  smoky  hills  toward 
the  West  when  she  rose. 

"We  must  be  going !" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  143 

"I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late,"  he  apologized. 

It  was  not  until  he  reached  his  room  at  eleven  o'clock 
after  three  hours  more  of  her  in  the  reception  room  that 
he  faced  the  issue  squarely. 

He  stood  before  the  mirror  and  studied  his  flushed  face. 
A  look  of  deep  seriousness  had  crept  into  his  jolly  blue 
eyes. 

"You're  a  goner,  this  time,  young  man !"  he  whispered. 
"You're  in  love." 

He  paused  and  repeated  it  softly. 

"In  love — the  big  thing  this  time.  Sweeping  all  life 
before  it.  Blotting  out  all  that's  passed  and  gripping  all 
that  lies  beyond — Glory  to  God !" 

For  hours  he  lay  awake.  The  world  was  made  anew. 
The  beauty  of  the  new  thought  filled  his  soul  with  grati- 
tude. 

He  dared  not  tell  her  yet.  The  stake  was  too  big.  He 
was  playing  for  all  that  life  held  worth  having.  He 
couldn't  rush  a  girl  of  that  kind.  A  blunder  would  be 
fatal.  He  had  a  reputation  as  a  flirt.  She  had  heard  it, 
no  doubt.  He  must  put  his  house  in  order.  His  word 
must  ring  true.  She  must  believe  him. 

He  made  up  his  mind  to  return  to  Fort  LeavenwortK 
next  day  and  manage  somehow  to  get  transferred  to  Fort 
Riley  for  two  weeks. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  Surveyor  of  the  lands  of  Pottawattomie  Creek 
was  shaping  the  organization  of  a  band  of  fol- 
lowers. 

To  this  little  group,  composed  as  yet  of  his  own  sons 
in  the  main,  he  talked  of  his  work,  his  great  duty,  his 
mission  with  mystic  elation.  A  single  idea  was  slowly 
fixing  itself  in  his  mind  as  the  purpose  of  life. 

It  was  fast  becoming  an  obsession. 

He  slept  but  little.  The  night  before  he  had  slept  but 
two  hours.  When  the  camp  supper  had  been  prepared,  he 
stood  with  bare  head  in  the  midst  of  his  followers  and 
thanked  God.  The  meal  was  eaten  to-night  in  a  grim  si- 
lence which  Brown  did  not  break  once.  The  supper  over, 
he  rose  and  again  returned  thanks  to  the  Bountiful 
Giver. 

And  then  he  left  the  camp  without  a  word.  Alone  he 
tramped  the  prairie  beneath  the  starlit  sky  of  a  beautiful 
May  night.  Hour  after  hour  he  paused  and  prayed.  Al- 
ways the  one  refrain  came  from  his  stern  lips : 

"Give  me,  oh,  Lord  God,  the  Vision !" 

And  he  would  wait  with  eyes  set  on  the  stars  for  its 
revelation.  He  crouched  at  last  against  the  trunk  of  a 
tree  in  a  little  ravine  near  the  camp.  It  was  past  three 
o'clock.  William  Walker,  who  was  acting  his  second  in 
command,  was  still  waiting  his  orders  for  the  following 

144 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 145 

day.  He  saw  Brown  enter  the  ravine  at  one  o'clock.  Ira- 
patient  of  his  endless  wandering1,  tired  and  sleepy,  he  de- 
cided to  follow  his  Chief  and  ask  his  orders. 

He  found  him  in  a  sitting  posture,  leaning  against  a 
blackjack,  his  rifle  across  his  knees.  Walker  called  softly 
and  received  no  response.  He  approached  and  laid  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

Instantly  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  his  rifle  at  his  follow- 
er's breast,  his  finger  on  the  trigger. 

"My  God !"  Walker  yelled. 

His  speech  was  too  late  to  stop  the  pressure  of  the  fin- 
ger. Walker  pushed  the  muzzle  up  and  the  ball  grazed  his 
shoulder.  The  leader  gripped  his  follower's  arm,  stared  at 
him  a  moment  and  merely  grunted: 

"Oh!" 

When  the  day  dawned  a  new  man  was  found  to  act  as 
second  in  command.  Walker  had  deserted  his  queer  chief- 
tain. 

The  old  man  entered  the  camp  at  dawn,  the  light  of 
determination  in  his  eyes  and  a  new  set  to  his  jaw.  His 
first  plan  of  the  Pottawattomie  was  right.  The  turn  to- 
ward Lawrence  had  been  a  waste  of  time.  He  selected 
six  men  to  accompany  him  on  his  mission,  his  four  sons 
who  had  made  up  the  Surveyor's  party,  his  son-in-law, 
Henry  Thompson,  and  Theodore  Weiner.  Owen,  Salmon, 
Oliver  and  Frederick  Brown  knew  every  foot  of  the 
ground.  They  had  carried  the  chain,  set  the  markers  and 
flags  and  kept  the  records. 

He  called  his  men  in  line  and  issued  his  first  command : 

"To  the  house  of  James  Townsley." 

Townsley  belonged  to  the  Pottawattomie  Rifles  of  which 
organization  his  son,  John  Jr.,  was  the  Captain. 

Arrived  at  the  house,  Brown  drew  Townsley  aside  and 
spoke  in  a  vague,  impersonal  manner. 


146 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"I  hear  there  is  trouble  expected  on  the  Pottawattoraie." 

"Is  there?" 

"We  hear  it." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"March  to  their  rescue.     Will  you  help  us?" 

"How?" 

"Harness  your  team  of  grays  and  take  our  party  to 
Pottawattomie." 

"All  right." 

The  old  man  found  a  grindstone  and  ordered  the  ugly 
cutlasses  which  he  had  brought  from  Ohio  to  be  sharp- 
ened. He  stood  over  the  stone  and  watched  it  turned 
until  each  edge  was  as  keen  as  a  butcher's  blade. 

It  began  to  dawn  on  the  two  younger  sons  before  the 
grinding  of  the  swords  was  finished  what  their  father  had 
determined. 

Frederick  asked  Oliver  tremblingly: 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  thing?" 

"It  looks  black  to  me." 

"It  looks  hellish  to  me." 

"I'm  not  going." 

"Nor  am  I." 

They  promptly  reported  the  decision  to  their  father. 

His  eyes  flamed. 

"It's  too  late  to  retreat  now!" 

"We're  not  going,"  was  the  sullen  answer  in  chorus. 

The  father  gripped  the  two  with  his  hard  hands  and 
held  them  as  in  a  vise. 

"You  will  not  put  me  to  shame  now  before  these  men. 
You  will  go  with  me — do  you  hear?" 

His  tones  rang  with  the  quiver  of  steel  and  the  boys' 
wills  weakened. 

Frederick  said  finally: 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 147 

"We'll  go  with  you  then,  but  we'll  take  no  part  in  what 
you  do." 

"Agreed,"  was  the  stern  answer. 

He  turned  to  Oliver  and  said : 

"Give  me  your  revolver.     I  may  need  it." 

"It's  mine,"  the  boy  replied.    "I'll  not  give  it  up." 

The  old  man' looked  the  stalwart  figure  over  in  a  quick 
glance  of  appraisement.  Brown  had  been  a  man  of  iron 
strength  in  his  day  but  his  shoulders  were  stooped  and  he 
knew  he  was  no  match  for  the  fierce  strength*  of  youth. 
Yet  his  hesitation  was  only  for  an  instant. 

With  the  sudden  spring  of  a  panther  he  leaped  on  the 
boy  and  attempted  to  take  the  pistol  by  force.  The  son 
resisted  with  fury. 

Frederick,  alarmed  lest  the  pistol  should  be  discharged 
in  the  struggle,  managed  to  slip  it  from  his  brother's  belt. 

The  match  was  not  equal. 

Youth  was  master  in  the  appeal  to  brute  strength.  At 
North  Elba  the  father  had  once  thrown  thirty  lumbermen 
in  a  day,  one  after  the  other,  in  a  wrestling  match.  He 
summoned  the  last  ounce  of  strength  now  to  subdue  his  re- 
bellious son. 

Frederick  watched  the  contest  with  painful  anxiety. 
His  own  mind  was  not  strong.  He  had  already  given  evi- 
dences of  insanity  that  had  distressed  his  brother.  If 
Oliver  should  kill  his  father  or  the  old  man  should  kill 
the  brother!  He  couldn't  face  the  hideous  possibility. 
Yet  he  couldn't  stop  them. 

Fortunately  there  were  no  other  witnesses  to  the  fight. 
Townsley  was  busy  at  the  stable  with  the  team.  Weiner 
and  Thompson  had  gone  into  the  house  to  complete  their 
packing  of  provisions  for  the  journey. 

In  tones  of  blind  anguish  Frederick  followed  the  two 
desperate  struggling  men. 


148 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Don't  do  this,  Father!" 

The  old  man  made  no  answer  save  to  swing  his  agile 
son's  frame  to  one  side  in  another  futile  effort  to  throw 
him  to  the  ground. 

Not  a  word  escaped  his  lips.  His  eyes  flashed  and  glit- 
tered with  the  uncertain  glare  of  a  maniac  in  the  moments 
when  the  iron  muscles  of  the  son  pinned  his  arms  and  held 
his  wiry  body  rigid. 

Again  Frederick's  low  pleading  could  be  heard.  This 
time  to  his  brother: 

"Can't  you  stop  it,  Oliver?" 

"How  can  I?" 

"For  God's  sake  stop  it — stop  it!" 

"I  can't  stop  it.  Don't  ye  see  he's  got  me  and  I've  got 
to  hold  him." 

The  consciousness  of  failing  strength  drove  the  father 
to  fury.  His  breath  was  coming  now  in  shorter  gasps. 
He  knew  his  chances  of  success  were  fading.  He  yielded 
for  a  moment,  and  ceased  to  struggle.  A  cunning  look 
crept  into  his  eyes. 

The  boy  relaxed  his  vigilance.  The  old  man  felt  the 
boy's  grip  ease.  With  a  sudden  thrust  of  his  body  he 
summoned  the  last  ounce  of  strength,  and  threw  his  son 
to  the  ground. 

The  boy  laughed  a  devilish  cry  of  the  strong  with  the 
weak  as  he  fell.  Before  he  touched  the  ground  he  had 
deftly  turned  the  father's  body  beneath  his  and  the  full 
weight  of  his  two  hundred  pounds  fairly  crushed  the  breath 
from  the  older  man. 

A  groan  of  rage  and  despair  was  wrung  from  his  stern 
lips.  But  no  word  escaped  him.  Frederick  rushed  to  the 
prostrate  figures,  seized  Oliver  by  the  shoulders  and  tore 
his  grip  loose. 

"This  is  foolish!"  he  stormed. 


149 


No  sooner  had  Brown  risen  than  he  plunged  again  at  his 
son.  The  boy  had  been  playing  with  him  to  this  time. 
The  half  of  his  strength  was  yet  in  reserve.  A  little  angry 
grunt  came  from  his  lips,  and  his  father  was  a  child  in 
his  hands.  With  sure,  quick  movement  he  pinioned  both 
arms  and  jammed  him  against  the  wheel  of  the  wagon. 
He  held  him  there  for  an  instant  helpless  to  resist  or 
move. 

The  last  cry  of  despairing  command  came  from  Brown's 
soul. 

"Let  go  of  me,  sir !" 

The  boy  merely  growled  a  bulldog's  answer. 

"Not  till  you  agree  to  behave  yourself." 

Another  desperate  contraction  of  muscles  and  the  order 
came  more  feebly. 

"Will  you  let  go  of  me,  sir?" 

"Will  you  behave  yourself?" 

"Yes,"  came  the  sullen  answer. 

The  boy  relaxed  his  grip  and  stood  ready  for  action. 

"All  right,  then." 

"You  can  keep  your  pistol." 

"I  intend  to." 

"But  you  are  not  to  use  it,  sir,  without  my  orders." 

"I  am  not  going  to  use  it  at  all,  except  in  self-defense." 

"You  will  not  be  called  upon  to  defend  yourself.  I  am 
going  on  a  divine  mission.  God  has  shown  me  the  way 
in  a  Vision.  I  wish  no  man's  help  who  must  be  driven." 

"You'll  not  get  any  help,  sir.  I  wouldn't  have  gone  on 
that  survey  with  you  if  I'd  known  what  was  in  your  mind." 

Brown  searched  his  son's  eyes  keenly. 

"You  will  not  betrav  me  to  my  enemies  ?" 

"I  can't  do  that.    You're  my  father." 

He  turned  to  Frederick. 

"Nor  you?" 


150  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

The  tears  were  streaming1  down  the  boy's  face.  He  was 
hysterical  from  the  strain  of  the  fight. 

"You  heard  me,  sir,"  the  father  stormed. 

"What  did  you  say?"  Frederick  stammered. 

Oliver  explained. 

"He  asked  if  you  were  going  to  betray  his  plans  to 
those  people  on  the  Pottawattomie." 

A  far-away  expression  came  into  his  eyes. 

"No— no — not  that." 

"Then  you'll  both  follow  and  keep  out  of  my  way  until 
we  have  finished  the  work  and  then  come  back  with  me?" 

"Yes,"  Oliver  answered. 

"Yes,"  Frederick  echoed  vaguely. 

Townsley  and  Weiner  were  coming  with  the  pair  of 
grays  to  be  hitched  to  the  wagon.  Weiner  led  his  own 
pony  already  saddled.  When  they  reached  the  wagon 
all  signs  of  rebellion  had  passed. 

"Are  you  ready?"  Townsley  asked. 

"Ready."     Brown's  metallic  voice  rang. 

The  horses  were  hitched  to  the  wagon,  the  provisions 
and  equipment  loaded.  Brown  turned  to  his  loyal  fol- 
lowers : 

"Arm  yourselves." 

Owen,  Salmon,  Henry  Thompson,  Theodore  Weiner 
and  John  Brown  each  buckled  a  loaded  revolver  about  his 
waist,  and  seized  a  rifle  and  cutlass. 

Werner  mounted  his  pony  as  an  outpost  rider  and  the 
others  climbed  into  the  wagon.  Oliver  and  Frederick 
agreed  to  follow  on  foot.  The  expedition  moved  toward 
the  Southern  settlement  on  Pottawattomie  Creek. 

Brown  crouched  low  in  the  wagon  as  it  moved  slowly 
forward  and  a  look  of  cunning  marked  his  grim  face. 

He  was  the  Witch  Hunter  now.  The  chase  was  on. 
And  the  game  was  human. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 151 

As  the  sun  was  setting  behind  the  Western  horizon  in 
a  glow  of  orange  and  purple  glory  the  strange  expedition 
drove  down  to  the  edge  of  the  timber  between  two  deep 
ravines  and  camped  a  mile  above  Dutch  Henry's  Crossing 
of  the  Pottawattomie. 

The  scene  was  one  of  serene  beauty.  The  month  of 
May — Saturday,  the  twenty-third.  Nature  was  smiling 
in  the  joy  of  her  happiest  hour.  Peace  on  earth,  plenty, 
good  will  and  happiness  breathed  from  every  bud  and  leaf 
and  song  of  bird. 

The  broad  prairies  of  the  Territory  were  fertile  and 
sunn}7.  They  stretched  away  in  unbroken,  sublime  loveli- 
ness until  the  land  kissed  the  infinite  of  the  skies.  Unless 
one  had  the  feeling  for  this  suggestion  of  an  inland  sea  the 
view  might  be  depressing  and  the  eye  of  the  traveler  weary. 

The  spot  which  John  Brown  picked  for  his  camp  was 
striking  in  its  beauty  and  picturesque  appeal.  Winding 
streams,  swelling  hills,  and  steep  ravines  broke  the  monot- 
ony of  the  plains. 

The  streams  were  bordered  by  the  rich  foliage  of  noble 
trees.  The  streams  were  called  "Creeks."  In  reality,  they 
were  beautiful  rivers  in  the  month  of  May — the  Marais  des 
Cygnes  and  the  Pottawattomie.  They  united  near  Osa- 
watomie  to  form  the  Osage  River,  the  largest  tributary  to 
the  Missouri  below  its  mountain  sources.  Each  river  had 
its  many  tributaries  winding  gracefully  along  wood-fringed 
banks. 

Beyond  these  ribbons  of  beautiful  foliage  stretched  the 
gorgeous  carpet  of  the  grass-matted,  flower-strewn 
prairies. 

The  wild  flowers  were  in  full  bloom,  pushing  their  red. 
white,  yellow,  blue  and  pink  heads  above  the  grass.  The 
wind  was  blowing  a  steady  life-giving  gale.  The  fields  of 
flowers  bowed  and  swayed  and  rose  again  at  its  touch. 


152  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


Their  perfume  filled  the  air.  The  perfume  of  the  near-by 
fields  was  mingled  with  the  odor  of  thousands  of  miles  of 
prairie  gardens  to  the  south  and  west.  A  peculiar  clear- 
ness in  the  atmosphere  gave  the  widest  range  to  vision. 
Brown  climbed  the  hill  alone  while  his  men  were  unpacking. 
From  the  hilltop,  even  in  the  falling  twilight,  he  could  see 
clearly  for  thirty  or  forty  miles. 

He  swept  the  horizon  for  signs  of  the  approach  of  a 
party  which  might  interfere  with  his  plan. 

He  knelt  again  and  prayed  to  his  God,  as  the  twilight 
deepened  into  darkness.  The  stars  came  out  one  by  one 
and  blinked  down  at  his  bent  figure  still  in  prayer,  his 
eyes  uplifted  in  an  uncanny  glare. 

As  he  slowly  moved  back  to  his  camp  he  met  Townsley. 

Frederick  and  Oliver  had  reached  camp  and  Townsley 
had  caught  a  note  of  the  sinister  in  their  whisr>ercd  talk. 
He  didn't  like  the  looks  of  it.  Brown  had  told  him  there 
was  trouble  brewing  on  the  Pottawattomie.  He  had  sup- 
posed, as  a  matter  of  course,  that  it  was  the  long-threat- 
ened attack  of  enemies  on  Weiner's  store.  Weiner,  a  big, 
ouarrelsome  Austrian,  had  been  in  more  than  one  fist 
fight  with  his  neighbors. 

Brown  studied  Townsley  and  decided  to  give  him  but  a 
hint  of  his  true  purpose.  He  didn't  like  this  sign  of  weak- 
ness on  the  eve  of  great  events. 

Townsley  took  the  hint  with  a  grain  of  salt,  but  what  he 
heard  was  enough  to  bring  alarm.  The  thing  Brown  had 
hinted  was  incredible. 

But  as  Townsley  looked  at  the  leader  he  realized  that 
he  was  not  an  ordinary  man.  There  was  something  ex- 
traordinary about  him.  He  either  commanded  the  abso- 
lute obedience  of  men  who  came  near  him  or  he  sent  them 
from  him  with  a  repulsion  as  strong  as  the  attraction  to 
those  who  liked  him. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 153 

He  felt  the  smothering  power  of  this  spell  over  his  own 
mind  now  and  tried  to  break  it. 

"Mr.  Brown,"  Townsley  began  haltingly,  "I've  brought 
you  here  now.  You  are  snug  in  camp.  I'd  like  to  take 
my  team  back  home." 

'"To-night?" 

"To-night." 

"It  won't  do." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  won't  allow  this  party  to  separate  until  the  work  to 
which  God  has  called  me  is  done." 

"I've  done  my  share." 

"No.    It  will  not  do  for  you  to  go  yet." 

"I'm  going—" 

"You're  not !" 

Brown  faced  the  man  and  held  him  in  a  silent  look  of 
his  blue-gray  eyes. 

Townsley  quailed  before  it. 

"Whatever  happens,  you  brought  me  here.  You  are 
equally  responsible  with  me." 

Townsley  surrendered. 

The  threat  was  unmistakable.  He  saw  that  he  was 
trapped.  Whether  he  liked  it  or  not,  he  had  packed  his 
camp  outfit,  harnessed  his  horses  and  driven  over  the  trail 
on  a  hunting  expedition.  He  knew  now  that  they  were 
stalking  human  game.  It  sent  the  chills  down  his  spine. 
But  there  was  no  help  for  it.  He  had  to  stick. 

Brown  spent  the  night  alone  reconnoitering  the  settle- 
ment of  the  Pottawattomie,  marking  the  place  of  his  game 
and  making  sure  that  no  alarm  could  be  given.  All  was 
still.  There  was  nowhere  the  rustle  of  a  leaf  along  a 
roadway  that  approached  the  unsuspecting  quarry. 

Saturday  dawned  clear  and  serene.  His  plans  required 
tHat  he  lie  concealed  the  entire  day.  He  could  stalk  his 


154  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


prey  with  sure  success  on  the  second  night.  The  first 
he  had  to  use  in  reconnoitering. 

When  breakfast  had  been  eaten  and  Brown  had  finished 
his  morning  prayers,  he  ordered  his  men  to  lie  low  in  the 
tall  grass  and  give  no  sign  of  life  until  the  shadows  of 
night  should  again  fall.  They  were  not  allowed  to  kindle 
another  fire.  The  fires  of  the  breakfast  had  been  extin- 
guished at  daylight. 

The  wind  rose  with  the  sun  and  the  tall  wild  flowers 
swayed  gracefully  over  the  dusty  figures  of  the  men. 
They  lay  in  a  close  group  with  Brown  in  the  center  lead- 
ing the  low-pitched  conversation  which  at  times  became  a 
debate. 

As  the  winds  whispered  through  the  moving  masses  of 

;  flowers,  the  old  man  would  sometimes  stop  his  talk  suddenly 

,and  an  ominous  silence  held  the  group.    He  had  the  strange 

(  power  of  thus  imposing  his  will  on  the  men  about  him. 

They  watched  the  queer  light  in  his  restless  eyes  as  he 

listened  to  the  voices  within. 

Suddenly  he  awaked  from  his  reverie  and  began  an  end- 
less denunciation  of  both  parties  in  Kansas.  Northern 
and  Southern  factions  had  become  equally  vile.  The 
Southerners  were  always  criminals.  Their  crime  was  now 
fully  shared  by  the  time  servers,  trimmers  and  liars  in  the 
Free  State  party. 

His  eyelids  suddenly  closed  halfway  and  his  eyes  shone 
two  points  of  light  as  his  metallic  voice  rang  without  re- 
straint : 

"They're  all  crying  peace,  peace!" 

He  paused  and  hissed  his  words  through  the  grass. 

"There  shall  be  no  peace !" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BROWN  lay  flat  on  his  belly  the  last  hour  of  the  day 
catching  moments   of   fitful   sleep.      At   sunset  he 
lifted  his  small  head  above  the  grass  and  scanned 
the  horizon.     There  might  be  the  curling  smoke  of  a  camp 
in  sight.     A  relief  party  might  be  on  his  trail. 

He  breathed  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  All  was  well.  The 
sun  was  fast  sinking  beneath  the  hills,  the  prey  was  in 
sight  and  no  hand  could  be  lifted  to  help. 

The  moment  the  shadows  closed  over  the  ravine  he  rose, 
stretched  his  cramped  body  and  turned  to  Thompson. 

"Build  your  fire  for  supper." 

Thompson  nodded. 

"And  give  our  men  all  they  can  eat." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"They'll  need  their  strength  to-night." 

"I  understand." 

The  supper  ready,  Brown  gathered  his  band  around  the 
camp  fire  and  offered  thanks  to  his  God.  The  meal 
was  eaten  in  silence.  The  tension  of  an  imperious  mind 
had  gripped  the  souls  of  his  men.  They  moved  as  if  stalk- 
ing o-ame  at  close  quarters. 

And  thev  were  doing  this  exactly. 

The  last  pot  and  pan  had  been  cleaned  and  packed. 
The  fire  was  extinguished.  Brown  issued  his  first  order 
of  the  deed. 

155 


156 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Lie  down  flat  in  the  grass  now." 

The  men  dropped  one  by  one.    Brown  was  the  last. 

"When  I  give  the  word,  see  that  your  arms  are  in  trim 
and  march  single  file  fifty  yards  apart  and  beat  the  brush 
as  you  go.  If  you  come  on  a  cabin  in  our  path  not  marked 
in  our  survey,  it  is  important.  Do  not  pass  it.  Report 
to  me  immediately." 

There  was  no  response.  He  had  expected  none.  The 
order  was  final. 

The  first  move  in  the  man  hunt  was  carefully  planned. 
/The  instinct  to  kill  is  the  elemental  force,  beneath  our 
culture,  which  makes  the  hunter.  The  strongest  person- 
alities of  our  world-conquering  race  of  Nordic  freemen 
/  are  always  hunters.  If  they  do  not  practice  the  chase  the 
fact  is  due  to  an  accident  of  position  in  life.  The  oppor- 
tunity has  not  been  given. 

Beneath  the  skin  of  the  man  of  the  College,  the  Council 
Table,  the  Forum,  the  Sacred  Altar,  of  Home,  and  the 
Church  slumbers  this  elemental  beast. 

Culture  at  best  is  but  a  few  hundred  years  old  and  it 
has  probably  skipped  several  generations  in  its  growth. 
The  Archaic  instinct  in  man  to  kill  reaches  back  millions 
of  years  into  the  past.  The  only  power  on  earth  to  re- 
strain that  force  is  Law.  The  rules  of  life,  embodied  in 
law  are  the  painful  results  of  experience  in  killing  and  the 
dire  effects  which  follow,  both  to  the  individual  and  the 
race.  Law  is  a  force  only  so  long  as  reverence  for  law 
is  made  the  first  principle  of  man's  social  training.  The 
moment  he  lifts  his  individual  will  against  the  embodied 
experience  of  humanity,  he  is  once  more  the  elemental  beast 
of  the  prehistoric  jungle — the  Hunter. 

And  when  the  game  is  human  and  the  hunter  is  a  man 
of  prayer,  we  have  the  supreme  form  of  the  beast,  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 157 

ancient  Witch  Hunter.  It  is  a  fact  that  the  pleasure  of 
killing  is  universal  in  man.  Our  savage  ancestors  for 
millions  of  years  had  to  kill  to  live.  We  have  long  ago 
outgrown  this  necessity  in  the  development  of  civilization. 
But  the  instinct  remains. 

We  are  human  as  we  restrain  this  instinct  and  bring  it 
under  the  dominion  of  Law.  We  still  hunt  the  most  deli- 
cate and  beautiful  animals,  stalk  and  kill  them,  driven  by 
the  passionate  secret  pleasure  of  the  act  of  murder.  With 
bated  breath  and  glittering  eyes  we  press  our  advantage 
until  the  broken  wing  ceases  to  flutter  and  the  splintered 
bone  to  crawl. 

This  imperious  atavism  the  best  of  us  cannot  or  will 
not  control  in  the  pursuit  of  animals.  When  man  has 
lifted  his  arm  in  defiance  of  Tradition  and  Law,  this  im- 
pulse is  the  dominant  force  whicK  sweeps  all  else  as  chaff 
before  it. 

John  Brown  was  the  apostle  of  the  sternest  faith  ever 
developed  in  the  agonies  of  our  history.  To  him  life  had 
always  been  a  horror. 

There  was  no  hesitation,  no  halting,  no  quiver  of  maud- 
lin pity,  when  he  slowly  rose  from  his  grass-covered  lair 
in  the  darkness  and  called  his  men  at  ten  o'clock : 

"Ready !" 

Single  file,  moving  silently  and  swiftly  they  crept 
through  the  night,  only  the  sharpened  swords  clanking 
occasionally  broke  the  silence.  Their  tread  was  soft  as 
the  claws  of  panthers.  The  leader's  spirit  gripped  mind 
and  body  of  his  followers. 

They  moved  northward  from  the  camp  in  the  ravine 
and  crossed  the  Mosquito  Creek  just  above  the  home  of 
the  Doyles.  Once  over  the  creek,  the  hunters  again  spread 
out  single  file  fifty  yards  apart. 

They  had  gone  but  two  hundred  yards  when  the  signal 


158 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

to  halt  was  whispered  along  the  line.  Owen  Brown  re- 
ported to  his  father: 

"There's  a  cabin  just  ahead." 

"We  haven't  charted  it  in  our  survey?" 

"No." 

"It  will  not  do  to  pass  it,"  said  Brown. 

"They  might  give  the  alarm." 

"Surround  it  and  do  your  duty,"  was  the  stern  com- 
mand. 

Owen  called  three  men,  cautiously  approached  the  door 
and  knocked. 

Something  moved  inside  and  a  gun  was  suddenly  rammed 
through  a  chink  in  the  walls.  The  muzzle  line  could  be 
seen  in  the  flash  of  a  star's  light. 

The  four  men  broke  and  scattered  in  the  brush.  They 
reported  to  the  leader. 

"We  want  no  fight  with  this  fool.  No  gun  play  if  we 
can  avoid  it.  We'll  take  our  chances  and  let  him  alone. 
He'll  think  we're  a  bunch  of  sneak  thieves.  I  don't  see 
how  we  missed  this  man's  place.  It  can't  be  five  hundred 
yards  from  the  Doyles'.  Back  to  your  places  and  swing 
round  his  cabin." 

Owen  quickly  gave  the  order  and  the  hunters  passed 
on.  The  first  one  of  the  marked  prey  had  shown  teeth  and 
claws  and  the  hunters  slipped  on  under  the  cover  of  the 
darkness  to  easier  game. 

The  Doyles  were  not  armed. 

At  least  the  chances  were  the  old  shotgun  was  not 
loaded,  as  it  was  used  only  for  hunting. 

The  hunters  crouched  low  and  circled  the  Doyle  house, 
crawling  through  the  timber  and  the  brush. 

A  hundred  yards  from  the  stable,  a  dog  barked.  Owen 
had  carefully  marked  this  dog  on  the  day  of  the  survey. 
He  was  merely  a  faithful  yellow  cur  which  Doyle  had 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 159 

brought  from  Virginia.  He  looked  about  seven  years  old. 
If  crossed  he  might  put  up  a  nasty  fight.  If  approached 
with  friendly  word  by  a  voice  he  had  once  heard,  the  rest 
would  be  easy. 

The  signal  was  given  to  halt.  The  hunters  paused  and 
stood  still  in  their  tracks.  Owen  had  taken  pains  to  be 
friendly  with  this  dog  on  the  day  of  the  survey.  He  had 
called  him  a  number  of  times  and  had  given  him  a  piece  of 
bread  from  his  pocket.  He  was  sure  he  could  manage 
him. 

In  a  low  tone  he  whistled  and  called. the  dog  by  name. 
He  had  carefully  recalled  it. 

"Jack!" 

He  listened  intently  and  heard  the  soft  step  of  a  paw 
rustling  the  leaves.  The  plan  was  working. 

The  dog  pushed  his  way  into  an  open  space  in  the  brush 
and  stopped. 

The  hunter  called  softly: 

"Jack,  old  boy!" 

The  dog  wagged  his  tail.  The  man  could  see  the  move- 
ment of  kindly  greeting  in  the  starlight,  and  ventured 
close.  He  bent  low  and  called  again: 

"Come  on,  boy !" 

The  dog  answered  with  a  whine,  wagged  his  tail,  came 
close  and  thrust  his  nose  against  the  man's  arm  in  a  wel- 
come greeting.  With  his  left  hand  the  man  stroked  the 
warm,  furry  head,  while  his  right  slowly  slipped  the  ugly 
sharpened  cutlass  from  its  scabbard. 

Still  stroking  the  dog's  head  and  softly  murmuring 
words  of  endearment,  he  straightened  his  body : 

"Bully  old  dog !    Fine  old  doggie — " 

The  dog's  eyes  followed  the  rising  form  with  confidence, 
wagging  his  tail  in  protest  against  his  going. 

The  hand  gripped  the  brass  hilt  of  the  cutlass,  the  pol- 


160 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

ished  steel  whizzed  through  the  air  and  crashed  into  the 
yellow  mass  of  flesh  and  bones. 

His  aim  was  bad  in  the  dark.  He  missed  the  dog's  head 
and  the  sword  split  the  body  lengthwise.  To  the  man's 
amazement  a  piercing  howl  of  agony  rang  through  the 
woods. 

He  dropped  his  sword  and  gripped  the  quivering  throat 
and  held  it  in  a  vise  of  steel  until  the  writhing  body  was 
still  at  last. 

Inside  the  darkened  cabin,  the  mother  stirred  from  an 
uneasy  sleep.  She  shook  her  husband  and  listened  in- 
tently. The  only  sound  that  came  from  without  was  the 
chirp  of  crickets  and  the  distant  call  of  a  coyote  from  the 
hill  across  the  creek. 

She  held  her  breath  and  listened  again.  The  man  by 
her  side  slept  soundly.  She  couldn't  understand  why  her 
heart  persisted  in  pounding.  There  wasn't  the  rustle  of  a 
leaf  outside.  The  wind  had  died  down  with  the  falling 
night.  It  couldn't  be  more  than  eleven  o'clock. 

Her  husband's  breathing  was  deep  and  regular.  His 
perfect  rest  and  the  sense  of  strength  in  his  warm  body 
restored  her  poise.  She  felt  the  slender  forms  of  her  little 
girls  in  the  trundle  bed  and  tried  to  go  back  to  sleep. 

It  was  useless.  In  spite  of  every  effort  her  eyes  refused 
to  close.  Again  she  was  sure  she  had  heard  the  dog's  cry 
in  the  night.  She  believed  that  it  was  an  ugly  dream. 
The  dawn  of  a  beautiful  Sunday  morning  would  find  all 
well  in  the  little  home  and  her  faithful  dog  again  wagging 
his  tail  at  the  door  asking  for  breakfast. 

She  listened  to  the  beating  of  her  foolish  heart.  Wide 
awake,  she  began  to  murmur  a  prayer  of  thanks  to  God 
for  all  His  goodness  and  mercy  in  the  new  home  He  had 
given. 

As  Owen's  hands  slowly  relaxed  from  the  throat  of  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 161 

lifeless  body  lie  seized  a  handful  of  leaves  and  wiped  the 
blood  from  the  blade  and  replaced  it  in  the  scabbard. 

He  rose  quickly  and  gave  the  signal  to  advance.  Again 
crouching  low,  moving  with  the  soft  tread  of  beasts  of 
prey,  the  hunters  closed  in  on  the  settler's  home. 

The  keen  ears  of  the  mother,  still  wide  awake,  caught 
the  crunch  of  feet  on  the  gravel  of  the  walk.  With  a 
heart  pounding  again  in  alarm  she  raised  her  head  and 
listened.  From  the  other  side  of  the  house  came  the  rustle 
of  leaves  stirred  by  another  swiftly  approaching  footstep. 
It  was  so  still  she  could  hear  her  own  heart  beat  again. 
There  could  be  no  mistake  about  it  this  time. 

She  gripped  her  husband's  arm : 

"John!" 

He  moaned  drowsily. 

"John-^Tohn— " 

"What's  matter?"  he  murmured  without  lifting  his  head 
from  the  pillow. 

"Get  up  quick !" 

"What  for?"  he  groaned. 

"There's  somebody  around  the  house." 

"Na." 

"I  tell  you— yes  !" 

"Hit's  the  dawgs." 

"I  heard  a  man's  step  on  the  path,  I  tell  you." 

"Yer  dreamin',  ole  woman — " 

"I'm  not,  I  tell  ye." 

"Go  back  to  sleep." 

The  man  settled  again  and  breathed  deeply. 

The  woman  remained  on  her  elbow,  listening  with  every 
nerve  strained  in  agony. 

Again  she  heard  a  step  on  the  gravel.  This  time  an- 
other footfall  joined  the  first.  She  gripped  her  husband's 
shoulders  and  shook  him  violently. 


162 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"John,  John!"  she  whispered. 

He  had  half  roused  himself  this  time,  shocked  into  con- 
sciousness by  her  trembling1  grip  on  his  shoulders.  But 
above  all  by  the  tremor  in  her  whispered  call. 

"What  is  it,  Mahala?" 

"For  God's  sake,  get  up  quick  and  call  the  boys  down 
outen  the  loft." 

"No !"  he  growled. 

"I  tell  you,  there's  somebody  outside — " 

They  were  both  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  now, 
speaking  in  whispers. 

"You're  dreamin',  ole  'oman,"  he  persisted. 

"I  heard  'em.  There's  more'n  one.  I  heard  some  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house.  I  heard  two  in  front.  Call  the 
boys  down — " 

"Don't  wake  the  boys  up  fer  nothin — " 

"Is  yer  gun  loaded?" 

"No." 

"Oh,  my  God." 

"I  ain't  got  no  powder.  I  don't  kill  game  in  the  spring- 
time." 

They  both  listened.  All  was  still.  They  could  hear 
the  breathing  of  the  little  girls  in  the  trundle  bed. 

The  crunch  of  feet  suddenly  came  to  the  doorstep.  The 
woman's  hand  gripped  her  husband's  arm  in  terror.  He 
heard  it  now. 

"That's  funny,"  he  mused. 

"Call  the  boys !"  the  mother  pleaded. 

"Wait  till  we  find  out  what  it  is — " 

A  firm  knock  on  the  door  echoed  through  the  darkened 
room. 

"God  save  us !"  the  woman  breathed. 

Doyle  rose  and  quietly  walked  to  the  door. 

"What  is  it?"  he  called  in  friendly  tones. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  163 

"We're  lost  in  the  woods,"  a  voice  answered. 

His  wife  had  followed  and  gripped  his  arm. 

"Don't  open  that  door." 

"Wait,  Mother—" 

"We're  trying  to  find  the  way  to  Mr.  Wilkinson's — can 
you  tell  us?" 

"Sure  I  can." 

He  moved  to  open  the  door.    Again  his  wife  held  him. 

"Don't  do  it !" 

Doyle  brushed  her  aside. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Mahala,"  he  protested  indignantly. 
"I'm  a  poor  sort  o'  man  if  I  can't  tell  a  lost  traveler  the 
way  out  of  the  woods." 

"They're  lyin' !" 

"We'll  see." 

He  raised  the  latch  and  six  men  crashed  their  way 
through  the  door.  John  Brown  led  the  assault.  He  held 
a  dim  lantern  in  his  hand  which  he  lifted  above  his  head, 
as  he  surveyed  the  room.  He  kept  his  own  face  in  shadow. 

With  a  smothered  cry,  the  mother  backed  against  the 
trundle  bed  instinctively  covering  the  sleeping  figures  of 
the  girls. 

Brown  pointed  a  cocked  revolver  at  Doyle's  breast  and 
said  in  cold  tones : 

"Call  those  three  boys  down." 

Doyle  hesitated. 

Brown's  eye  glanced  down  the  barrel  of  his  revolver: 

"Quick!" 

The  man  saw  he  had  no  chance. 

He  mounted  the  ladder,  the  revolver  following  him. 
The  mother's  terror-stricken  eyes  saw  that  each  man  was 
armed  with  two  revolvers,  a  bowie  knife  and  cutlass. 

"Don't  you  scare  'em,"  Brown  warned. 

"I  won't." 


164 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Tell  'em  to  come  down  and  show  us  the  way  to  Wilkin- 
son's." 

"Boys !"  the  father  called. 

There  was  no  answer  at  first,  and  the  father  wondered 
if  they  had  heard  and  gotten  weapons  of  some  kind.  He 
hoped  not.  It  would  be  a  useless  horror  to  try  to  defend 
themselves  before  a  mother's  eyes,  and  those  little  girls 
screaming  beside  her. 

He  hastened  to  call  a  second  time  and  reassure  their 
fears. 

"Boys!" 

William,  the  older  one,  answered  drowsily: 

"Yessir— " 

"Come  down,  all  of  you.  Some  travelers  are  here  who've 
lost  the  way.  They  want  you  to  help  them  get  to  Mr. 
Wilkinson's." 

"All  right,  sir." 

The  boys  hastily  slipped  on  their  trousers  and  shoes. 

"Tell  'em  to  hurry,"  Brown  ordered. 

"Jest  slip  on  yer  shoes  and  britches,"  Doyle  called. 

The  Surveyor  held  the  lantern  behind  his  body  until  the 
three  sons  had  come  down  the  ladder  and  he  saw  that  they 
were  unarmed. 

He  stepped  to  the  fireplace,  took  the  shotgun  from  the 
rack  and  handed  it  to  Weiner. 

The  boys,  startled  at  the  group  of  stern  armed  men, 
instinctively  moved  toward  their  father,  dazed  by  the  as- 
sault. 

Brown  faced  the  group. 

"You  four  men  are  my  prisoners." 

The  mother  left  the  trundle  bed  and  faced  the  leader. 

"Who  are  you?" 

Brown  dropped  his  lantern,  fixed  her  with  his  eyes. 

"I  am  the  leader  of  the  Northern  Army." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  165 

"What  are  you  doing  here  to-night?" 

"I  have  come  on  a  divine  mission." 

"Who  sent  you?" 

"The  Lord  of  Hosts  in  a  Vision — " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"The  will  of  God." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  she  fairly  screamed  in  his 
face. 

"That  is  not  for  your  ears,  woman,"  was  the  stern  an- 
swer. "I  have  important  business  with  Southern  settlers 
on  the  Pottawattomie  to-night." 

The  woman's  intuition  saw  in  a  flash  the  hideous  trag- 
edy. With  a  cry  of  anguish  she  threw  her  arms  around 
her  husband's  neck,  sobbing. 

"Oh,  John,  John,  my  man,  I  told  ye  not  to  talk — but  ye 
would  tell  folks  what  ye  believed.  Why  couldn't  ye  be  still  ? 
Oh,  my  God,  my  God,  it's  come  to  this !" 

The  man  soothed  her  with  tender  touch. 

"Hush,  Mother,  hush.     You  mustn't  take  on." 

"I  can't  help  it — I  just  can't.  God  have  mercy  on  my 
poor  lost  soul — " 

She  paused  and  looked  at  her  boys. 

With  a  scream  she  threw  herself  first  on  one  and  then 
on  the  other. 

"Oh,  my  big  fine  boy !  I  can't  let  you  go !  Where  is 
God  to-night?  Is  He  dead?  Has  He  forgotten  me?" 

The  father  drew  her  away  and  shook  her  sternly. 

"Hush,  Mother,  hush !  Yer  can't  show  the  white  feather 
like  this !" 

"I  can't  help  it.    I  can't  give  up  my  boys !" 

She  paused  and  looked  at  Doyle. 

"And  I  can't  give  you  up,  my  man — I  just  can't !" 

"Don't,  don't — "  the  husband  commanded.  "We've  got 
to  be  men  now." 


166 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

She  fought  hard  to  control  her  tears.  The  little  girls 
began  to  sob.  She  rushed  to  the  trundle  bed  and  soothed 
them. 

"Keep  still,  babies.    They  won't  hurt  you.    Keep  still !" 

The  children  choked  into  silence  and  she  leaped  toward 
Brown  and  tried  to  seize  his  hand.  He  repulsed  her  and 
she  went  on  frantically. 

"Please,  for  God's  sake,  man,  have  mercy  on  a  wife  and 
mother,  if  you  ain't  got  no  pity  in  your  heart  for  my  men! 
Surely  you  have  women  home.  Their  hearts  can  break 
like  mine.  My  man's  only  been  talkin'  as  politicians  talk. 
It  was  nothing.  Surely  it's  no  crime." 

Brown  drew  a  notebook  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  up. 

"I  have  the  record  in  this  book  of  your  husband's  words 
against  the  men  of  our  party,  Madame.  He  stands  con- 
victed of  murder  in  his  heart.  His  sons  are  not  of  age. 
Their  opinions  are  his." 

For  a  moment  the  mother  forgot  her  pleading  and 
shrieked  her  defiance  into  the  stern  face  before  her. 

"And  who  made  you  a  judge  o'  life  and  death  for  my 
man  and  my  sons?  I  bore  these  boys  of  the  pains  of  my 
body.  God  gave  them  to  me.  They  are  mine,  not  yours !" 

Brown  brushed  her  aside. 

"That's  enough  from  you.  Those  men  are  my  prison- 
ers. Bring  them  on!" 

He  moved  toward  the  door  and  the  guards  with  drawn 
swords  closed  in  on  the  group. 

The  mother  leaped  forward  and  barred  the  way  to  the 
door.  She  faced  Brown  with  blanched  face.  Her  breath 
came  in  short  gasps.  She  fought  desperately  for  control 
of  her  voice,  failed  to  make  a  sound,  staggered  to  the  old 
man,  grasped  blindly  his  body  and  sank  to  her  knees  at 
his  feet. 

At  last  she  managed  to  gasp : 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 167 

"Just  one  of  my  boys — then — my  baby  boy!  He's  a 
big  boy — but  look  at  his  smooth  face — he  ain't  but  four- 
teen years  old.  Hit  don't  seem  but  yistiday  that  he  wuz 
just  a  laughin'  baby  in  my  arms !  And  I've  always  been 
that  proud  of  him.  He's  smart.  He's  always  been  smart 
— and  God  forgive  me — I've  loved  him  better'n  all  the  oth- 
ers— hit — wuzn't — right — fer — a — mother — to — love  one 
of  her  —  children  —  more  —  than  —  the  —  others  —  but 
I  couldn't  help  it !  If  ye'll  just  spare  him — hit's  all  I'll 
ask  ye  now" — her  voice  sank  into  a  sob  as  her  face  touched 
the  floor. 

The  dark  figure  above  her  did  not  move  and  she  lifted 
her  head  with  desperate  courage. 

"I'll  be  all  alone  here — a  broken-hearted  woman  with 
two  little  gals  and  nobody  to  help  me — or  work  fer  me — 
ef  you'll  just  spare  my  baby  boy — " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  threw  her  arms  around  the 
youngest  boy's  neck. 

"Oh,  my  baby,  my  baby,  I  can't  let  ye  go — I  can't — I 
can't !" 

She  lifted  her  tear-streaming  eyes  to  the  dark  face 
again. 

"Please,  please,  for  the  love  of  God — you — say — you — 
believe — in — God — leave  me  this  one !" 

Brown  moved  his  head  in  a  moment's  uncertainty.  He 
turned  to  Owen. 

"Leave  him  and  come  on  with  the  others." 

With  a  desperate  cry,  the  mother  closed  her  eyes  and 
clung  to  the  boy. 

She  dared  not  lift  them  in  prayer  for  the  others  as  they 
passed  out  into  the  night. 

The  armed  men  had  seized  her  husband  and  her  two 
older  sons,  William  and  Drury,  and  hustled  them  through 
the  door.  The  mother  drew  the  boy  back  on  the  trundle 


168 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

bed  and  held  him  in  her  arms.     The  little  girls  crouched 
close  and  began  to  sob. 

"Hush — don't  make  a  noise.  They  won't  hurt  you.  I 
want  to  hear  what  they  do — maybe — " 

The  mother  stopped  short,  fascinated  by  the  horror  of 
the  tragedy  she  knew  would  take  place  outside  her  door. 
The  darkness  gave  no  token  of  its  progress.  A  cricket 
was  chirping  in  the  chimney  just  awakened  by  the  noise. 

She  held  her  breath  and  listened.  Not  a  sound.  The 
silence  was  unbearable.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  in  a  mo- 
ment's fierce  rebellion  against  the  crime  of  such  an  in- 
famous attack.  A  roused  lioness,  she  leaped  to  the  mantel 
to  seize  the  shotgun. 

John  followed  and  caught  her. 

"The  gun's  gone,  Ma,"  he  cried. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  forgot,"  she  gasped.  "They  took  it,  the 
damned  fiends !" 

"Ma,  Ma,  be  still !"  the  boy  pleaded.  He  was  horror- 
stricken  at  the  oath  from  her  lips.  In  all  his  life  he  had 
never  heard  her  use  a  vulgar  word. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  faltered.  "I  mustn't  try  to  do 
anything.  They  might  come  back  and  kill  you — my  baby 
boy!" 

She  pressed  him  again  to  her  heart  and  held  him.  She 
strained  her  ears  for  the  first  signal  of  the  deed  the  dark- 
ness shrouded. 

The  huntsmen  dragged  the  father  and  two  sons  but  a 
hundred  and  fifty  yards  from  the  door  and  halted  beside 
the  road.  Brown  faced  the  father  in  the  dim  starlight. 

"You  are  a  Southern  white  man  ?" 

«I  am,  sir." 

"You  are  pro-Slavery?" 

"I  hate  the  sight  and  sound  of  a  slave." 

"But  you  believe  in  the  institution?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 169 

"I  hate  it,  I  tell  you." 

Brown  paused  as  if  his  brain  had  received  a  shock.  The 
answer  had  been  utterly  unexpected.  The  man  was  in 
earnest.  He  meant  what  he  said.  And  he  was  conscious 
of  the  solemnity  of  the  trial  on  which  his  life  hung. 

Brown  came  back  to  his  cross  examination,  determined 
to  convict  him  on  the  grounds  he  had  fixed  beforehand. 

"What  do  you  mean  when  you  say  that  you  hate  the 
institution  of  Slavery?" 

"Exactly  what  I  say." 

"You  do  not  believe  in  owning  slaves?" 

"I  do  not." 

"Did  you  ever  own  one?" 

"No !"' 

"And  you  never  expect  to  own  one?" 

"Never." 

"Why  did  you  rush  into  this  Territory  among  the  first 
to  cross  the  border?" 

"I  come  West  to  get  away  from  niggers,  and  bring  my 
children  up  in  a  white  man's  country." 

Quick  as  a  flash  came  the  crucial  question  from  lips  that 
had  never  smiled.  It  was  the  triumphant  scream  of  an 
eagle  poised  to  strike.  He  had  him  at  last. 

"Then  you  don't  believe  the  negro  to  be  your  brother 
and  your  equal — do  you?" 

The  poor  white  man's  body  suddenly  stiffened  and  his 
chin  rose: 

"No,  by  God,  I  don't  believe  that!" 

John  Brown  lifted  his  hand  in  a  quick  signal  and  Owen 
stepped  stealthily  behind  Doyle.  The  sharpened  cutlass 
whistled  through  the  air  and  crashed  into  Doyle's  skull. 
His  helpless  hands  were  lifted  instinctively  as  he  staggered. 
The  swift  descending  blade  split  the  right  hand  open  and 
severed  the  left  from  the  body  before  he  crumpled  in  a 


170 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

heap  on  the  ground.  The  assassin  placed  his  knee  on  the 
prostrate  figure  and  plunged  his  knife  three  times  in  the 
breast, — once  through  the  heart  and  once  through  each 
lung.  He  had  learned  the  art  in  butchering  cattle. 

Fifty  yards  away  the  mangled  bodies  of  William  and 
Drury  Do3rle  lay  on  the  ground  with  the  dim  figure  of  the 
assassin  bending  low  to  make  sure  that  no  sign  of  life 
remained. 

John  Brown  raised  the  wick  of  his  lantern  and  walked 
coolly  up  to  the  body  of  the  elder  Doyle.  He  flashed  the 
lantern  on  the  distorted  features.  A  look  of  religious  ec- 
stasy swept  the  stern  face  of  the  Puritan  and  his  eyes  glit- 
tered with  an  unearthly  glare. 

He  uttered  a  sound  that  was  half  a  laugh  and  half  a 
religious  shout,  snatched  his  pistol  from  his  belt,  placed 
the  muzzle  within  an  inch  of  the  dead  skull  and  fired.  The 
brains  of  the  corpse  splashed  the  muzzle  of  the  revolver. 

The  trembling  mother  inside  the  cabin  uttered  a  low  cry 
of  horror  and  crumpled  in  the  arms  of  her  son. 

The  boy  dragged  her  to  the  bed  and  rushed  to  the 
kitchen  for  a  cup  of  water.  He  dashed  it  in  her  face  and 
cried  for  joy  when  she  breathed  again.  He  didn't  mind 
the  moans  and  sobs.  The  thought  that  she,  too,  might  be 
dead  had  stopped  his  very  heartbeat. 

He  soothed  her  at  last  and  sat  holding  her  hand  in  the 
dark.  The  girls  nestled  against  her  side.  The  mother 
gave  no  sign  that  she  was  conscious  of  their  presence. 

Her  spirit  was  outside  the  cabin  now,  hovering  in  the 
darkness  mourning  her  dead.  Through  the  dread  hours 
of  the  night  she  sat  motionless,  listening,  dreaming. 

No  sounds  came  from  the  darkness.  The  coyote  had 
ceased  to  call.  The  cricket  in  the  chimney  slept  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  dark  figures  secured  the  horses,  bridles  and  sad- 
dles and  moved  to  the  next  appointed  crime. 
The  stolen  horses  were  put  in  charge  of  the  two 
sons,  who  had  refused  to  take  part  in  the  events  of  the 
night.     They  were  ordered  to  follow  the  huntsmen  care- 
fully. 

Again  they  crept  through  the  night  and  approached 
the  home  of  Wilkinson,  the  member  of  the  Legislature 
from  the  County.  Brown  had  carefully  surveyed  his  place 
and  felt  sure  of  a  successful  attack  unless  the  house  should 
be  alarmed  by  a  surly  dog  which  no  member  of  his  survey- 
ing party  had  been  able  to  approach. 

When  they  arrived  within  two  hundred  yards  of  the 
gate,  it  was  one  o'clock.  Brown  carefully  watched  the 
house  for  ten  minutes  to  see  that  no  light  gleamed  through 
a  window  or  a  chink.  The  wife  had  been  sick  with  the 
measles  when  the  survey  was  made.  There  was  no  sign  of 
a  light. 

Salmon  and  Owen  Brown  were  sent  by  the  men  on  a 
protest  to  Brown. 

Salmon  was  spokesman. 

"We've  got  something  to  say  to  you,  Father,  before 
we  take  out  Wilkinson — 

"Well?"  the  old  man  growled. 

171 


172 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"You  gave  every  man  strict  orders  to  fire  no  guns  or 
revolver  unless  necessary — didn't  you?" 

"I  did." 

"You  fired  the  only  shot  heard  to-night." 

"I'll  not  do  it  again.  I  didn't  intend  to.  I  don't  know 
why  I  did  it.  Stick  to  my  order." 

"See  that  you  stick  to  it,"  the  boy  persisted. 

"I  will.  Use  only  your  knives  and  cutlasses.  The  cut- 
lass first  always." 

The  men  began  to  move  slowly  forward. 

Brown  called  softly. 

"Just  a  minute.  This  dog  of  Wilkinson's  is  sure  to 
bark.  Don't  stop  to  try  to  kill  him.  Rush  the  house 
double  quick  and  pay  no  attention  to  his  barking — ** 

"If  he  bites?"  Owen  asked. 

"Take  a  chance,  don't  try  to  kill  him — Wilkinson  might 
wake.  Now,  all  together — rush  the  house !" 

They  rushed  the  house  at  two  hundred  yards.  They 
had  taken  but  ten  steps  when  the  dog  barked  so  furiously 
Brown  called  a  halt.  They  waited. 

Then,  minutes  later  the  dog  raged,  approaching  the 
house  and  retreating.  His  wild  cry  of  alarm  rang  with 
sinister  echo  through  the  woods.  The  faithful  brute  was 
calling  his  master  and  mistress  to  arms. 

Still  the  man  inside  slept.  The  Territory  of  Kansas 
to  this  time  had  been  as  free  from  crime  as  any  state  on 
its  border.  The  lawmaker  had  never  felt  a  moment's  un- 
easiness. 

Footsteps  approached  the  door.  The  sick  woman  saw 
the  shadow  of  a  man  pass  the  window.  The  starlight 
sharply  silhouetted  his  face  against  the  black  background. 

Some  one  knocked  on  the  door. 

The  woman  asked: 

"Who's  that?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 173 

No  one  answered. 

"Henry,  Henry !"  she  called  tensely. 

"Well?"  the  husband  answered. 

"There's  somebody  knocking  at  the  door." 

Wilkinson  half  raised  in  bed. 

"Who  is  that?" 

A  voice  replied: 

"We've  lost  the  road.  We  want  you  to  tell  us  the  way 
to  Dutch  Henry's." 

Wilkinson  began  to  call  the  directions. 

"We  can't  understand — " 

"You  can't  miss  the  way." 

"Come  out  and  show  us!" 

The  request  was  given  in  tones  so  sharp  there  could  be 
no  mistake.  It  was  a  command  not  a  plea. 

"I'll  have  to  go  and  tell  them,"  he  said  to  his  wife. 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  open  that  door,"  she  whispered. 

"It's  best." 

She  seized  and  held  him. 

"You  shall  not  go !" 

Wilkinson  sought  to  temporize. 

"I'm  not  dressed,"  he  called.  "I  can  tell  you  the  way 
as  well  without  going  outdoors." 

The  men  stepped  back  from  the  door  and  held  a  con- 
sultation. John  Brown  at  once  returned  and  began  his 
catechism : 

"You  are  Wilkinson,  the  Member  of  the  Legislature?" 

"I  am,  sir." 

"You  are  opposed  to  the  Free  Soil  Party?" 

"I  am." 

The  answers  were  sharp  to  the  point  of  curtness  and 
his  daring  roused  the  wrath  of  Brown  to  instant  action. 

"You're  my  prisoner,  sir.'* 


174 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

He  waited  an  instant  for  an  answer  and,  getting  none, 
asked : 

"Do  you  surrender?" 

"Gentlemen,  I  do." 

"Open  the  door!" 

"In  just  a  minute." 

"Open  it—" 

"When  I've  made  a  light." 

"We've  got  a  light.    Open  that  door  or  we'll  smash  it !" 

Again  the  sick  woman  caught  his  arm. 

"Don't  do  it !" 

"It's  better  not  to  resist,"  he  answered,  opening  the 
door. 

Brown  held  the  lantern  in  his  face. 

"Put  on  your  clothes." 

Wilkinson  began  to  dress. 

The  men  covered  him  with  drawn  revolvers.  The  sick 
woman  sank  limply  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Are  there  any  more  men  in  this  house?"  Brown  asked 
sharply. 

"No." 

"Have  you  any  arms?" 

"Only  a  quail  gun." 

"Search  the  place." 

The  guard  searched  the  rooms,  ransacking  drawers  and 
chests.  They  took  everything  of  value  they  could  find, 
including  the  shotgun  and  powder  flask. 

The  sick  woman  at  length  recovered  her  power  of  speech 
and  turned  to  Brown. 

"If  you've  arrested  my  husband  for  anything,  he's  a 
law-abiding  man.  You  can  let  him  stay  here  with  me  until 
morning." 

"No !"  Brown  growled. 

"I'm  sick  and  helpless.    I  can't  stay  here  by  myself." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 175 

"Let  me  stay  with  my  wife,  gentlemen,"  Wilkinson 
pleaded,  "until  I  can  get  some  one  to  wait  on  her  and  I'll 
remain  on  parole  until  you  return  or  I'll  meet  you  any- 
where you  say." 

Brown  looked  at  the  woman  and  at  the  little  children 
trembling  by  her  side  and  curtly  answered : 

"You  have  neighbors." 

"So  I  have,"  Wilkinson  agreed,  "but  they  are  not  here 
and  I  cannot  go  for  them  unless  you  allow  me." 

"It  matters  not,"  Brown  snapped.     "Get  ready,  sir." 

Wilkinson  took  up  his  boots  to  pull  them  on  when  Brown 
signaled  his  men  to  drag  him  out. 

Without  further  words  they  seized  him  and  hurried 
into  the  darkness.  They  dragged  him  a  few  yards  from 
the  house  into  a  clump  of  dead  brush. 

Weiner  was  the  chosen  headsman.  He  swung  his  big 
savage  figure  before  Wilkinson  and  his  cutlass  flashed  in 
the  starlight. 

The  woman  inside  the  darkened  house  heard  the  crash 
of  the  blade  against  the  skull  and  the  dying  groan  from 
the  lips  of  the  father  of  her  babies. 

When  the  body  crumpled,  Weiner  knelt,  plunged  his 
knife  into  the  throat,  turned  it  and  severed  the  jugular 
vein. 

Standing  over  the  body  John  Brown  spoke  to  one  of  his 
men. 

"The  horses,  saddles  and  bridles  from  the  stable — 
quick !" 

The  huntsman  hurried  to  the  stable  and  took  Wilkin- 
son's horse. 

It  was  two  o'clock  before  they  reached  the  home  of 
James  Harris  on  the  other  side  of  the  Pottawattomie. 
Harris  lived  on  the  highway  and  kept  a  rude  frontier 
boarding  place  where  travelers  stopped  for  the  night. 


176 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

With  him  lived  Dutch  Henry  Sherman  and  his  brother, 
William. 

Brown  had  no  difficulty  in  entering  this  humble  one- 
room  house.  It  was  never  locked.  The  latch  string  was 
outside. 

Without  knocking  Brown  lifted  the  latch  and  sprang 
into  the  room  with  his  son,  Owen,  and  another  armed 
huntsman. 

He  surveyed  the  room.  In  one  bed  lay  Harris,  his  wife 
and  child.  In  two  other  beds  were  three  men,  William 
Sherman,  John  Whitman  and  a  stranger  who  had  stopped 
for  the  night  and  had  given  no  name. 

"You  are  our  prisoners,"  Brown  announced.  "It  is  use- 
less for  you  to  resist." 

The  old  man  stood  by  one  bed  with  drawn  saber  and 
Owen  stood  by  the  other  while  Weiner  searched  the  room. 
He  found  two  rifles  and  a  bowie  knife  which  he  passed 
through  the  door  to  the  guard  outside. 

Brown  ordered  the  stranger  out  first.  He  kept  him  but 
a  few  minutes  and  brought  him  back.  He  next  ordered 
Harris  to  follow  him. 

Brown  confronted  his  prisoner  in  the  yard.  A  swords- 
man stood  close  by  his  side  to  catch  his  nod. 

"Where  is  Dutch  Henry  Sherman?" 

"On  the  plains  hunting  for  lost  cattle." 

"You  are  telling  me  the  truth?"  Brown  asked,  boring 
him  through  with  his  terrible  eyes. 

"The  truth,  sir!" 

He  studied  Harris  by  the  light  of  his  lantern. 

"Have  you  ever  helped  a  Southern  settler  to  enter  the 
Territory  of  Kansas  ?" 

"No." 

"Did  you  take  any  hand  in  the  troubles  at  Lawrence?" 

"I've  never  been  to  Lawrence." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 177 

"Have  you  ever  done  the  Free  State  Party  any  harm?" 

"No.     I  don't  take  no  part  in  politics." 

"Have  you  ever  intended  to  do  that  party  any  harm?" 

"I  don't  know  nothin'  about  politics  or  parties." 

"What  are  you  doing  living  here  among  these  Southern 
settlers?" 

"Because  I  can  get  better  wages." 

"Any  horses,  bridles,  or  saddles?" 

"I've  one  horse." 

"Saddle  him  and  bring  him  here." 

A  swordsman  walked  by  his  side  while  he  caught  and 
saddled  his  horse  and  delivered  him  to  his  captors. 

Brown  went  back  into  the  house  and  brought  out  Wil- 
liam Sherman.  Harris  was  ordered  back  to  bed,  and  a 
new  guard  was  placed  inside  until  the  ceremony  with  Sher- 
man should  be  ended. 

It  was  brief. 

Brown  had  no  questions  to  ask  this  man.  He  was  the 
brother  of  Henry  Sherman,  the  most  hated  member  of  the 
settlement.  Brown  called  Thompson  and  Weiner  and 
spoke  in  tones  of  quick  command. 

"Take  him  down  to  the  Pottawattomie  Creek.  I  want 
this  man's  blood  to  mingle  with  its  waters  and  flow  to  the 
sea !" 

The  doomed  man  did  not  hear  the  sentence  of  his  judge. 
The  two  huntsmen  caught  his  arms  and  rushed  him  to  the 
banks  of  the  creek.  He  stood  for  a  moment  trembling 
and  dazed.  Not  a  word  had  passed  his  lips.  Not  one  had 
passed  his  guards. 

They  loosed  their  grip  on  his  arms,  stepped  back  and 
two  cutlasses  whistled  through  the  air  in  a  single  stroke. 
The  double  blow  was  so  swiftly  and  evenly  delivered  that 
the  body  stood  erect  until  the  second  stroke  of  the  sharp- 
ened blades  had  cut  off  one  hand  and  split  open  the  breast. 


178 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

When  the  body  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  huntsmen  they 
seized  the  quivering  limbs  and  hurled  them  into  the  creek. 

They  reported  at  once  to  their  Captain.  He  stood  in 
front  of  the  house  with  his  restless  gaze  sweeping  the 
highway  for  any  possible,  belated  traveler.  The  one  hope 
uppermost  in  his  mind  was  that  Dutch  Henry  Sherman 
might  return  with  his  lost  cattle  in  time. 

He  raised  his  lantern  and  looked  at  his  watch.  The  men 
who  had  butchered  William  Sherman  stood  with  red  swords 
for  orders. 

Brown  had  not  yet  uttered  a  word.  He  knew  that  the 
work  on  the  bank  of  the  Pottawattomie  was  done.  The 
attitude  of  his  swordsmen  was  sufficient. 

He  asked  but  one  question. 

"You  threw  him  into  the  water?" 

"Yes." 

"Good." 

He  closed  his  silver  watch  with  a  snap. 

"It's  nearly  four  o'clock.  We  have  no  more  time  for 
work  to-night.  Back  to  camp." 

The  men  turned  to  repeat  his  orders. 

"Wait!" 

His  order  rang  like  vibrant  metal. 

The  men  stopped. 

"We'll  mount  the  horses  we  have  taken,  and  march 
single  file.  I'll  ride  the  horse  taken  here.  Bring  him  to 
the  door." 

With  quick  springing  step  Brown  entered  the  house 
where  the  husband  and  wife  and  the  two  lodgers  were  still 
shivering  under  the  eye  of  the  guard  with  drawn  sword. 

The  leader's  voice  rang  with  a  note  of  triumph. 

"You  people  whose  lives  have  been  spared  will  stay  in 
this  house  until  sunrise.  And  the  less  you  say  about 
what's  happened  to-night  the  longer  you'll  live." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 17p 

He  turned  to  his  guard. 

"Come  on." 

Brown  had  just  mounted  his  horse  to  lead  the  proces- 
sion back  to  the  camp  in  the  ravine,  when  the  first  peal  of 
thunder  in  a  spring  shower  crashed  overhead. 

He  glanced  up  and  saw  that  the  sky  was  being  rapidly 
overcast  by  swiftly  moving  clouds.  A  few  stars  still  glim- 
mered directly  above. 

The  storm  without  was  an  incident  of  slight  importance. 
The  rain  would  give  him  a  chance  to  test  the  men  inside. 
He  ordered  his  followers  to  take  refuge  in  the  long  shed 
under  which  Harris  stabled  the  horses  and  vehicles  of 
travelers. 

He  stationed  a  sentinel  at  the  door  of  the  house. 

His  orders  were  clear. 

"Cut  down  in  his  tracks  without  a  word,  the  man  who 
dares  to  come  out." 

The  swordsman  threw  a  saddle  blanket  around  his  shoul- 
ders and  took  his  place  at  the  doorway. 

The  storm  broke  in  fury.  In  five  minutes  the  heavens 
were  a  sea  of  flame.  The  thunder  rolled  over  the  ravine, 
the  hills,  the  plains  in  deafening  peals.  Flash  after  flash, 
roar  after  roar,  an  endless  throb  of  earth  and  air  from 
the  titanic  bombardment  from  the  skies.  The  flaming  sky 
was  sublime — a  changing,  flashing,  trembling  splendor. 

Townsley  was  the  only  coward  in  the  group  of  stolid 
figures  standing  under  the  shed.  He  watched  by  the  light- 
ning the  expression  of  Brown's  face  with  awe.  There  was 
something  terrible  in  the  joy  that  flamed  in  his  eyes. 
Never  had  he  seen  such  a  look  on  human  face.  He  forgot 
the  storm  and  forgot  his  fears  of  cyclones  and  lightning 
strokes  in  the  fascination  with  which  he  watched  the 
seamed,  weatherbeaten  features  of  the  man  who  had  just 
committed  the  foulest  deed  in  the  annals  of  American  fron- 


180 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

'tier  life.  There  was  in  his  shifting  eyes  no  shadow  of 
doubt,  of  fear,  of  uncertainty.  There  was  only  the  look 
of  satisfaction,  of  supreme  triumph.  The  coward  caught 
the  spark  of  red  that  flashed  from  his  soul. 

For  a  moment  he  regretted  that  he  had  not  joined  the 
bloody  work  with  his  own  hand.  He  was  ashamed  of  his 
pity  for  the  stark  masses  of  flesh  that  still  lay  on  the 
deluged  earth.  In  spite  of  the  contagion  of  Brown's  mind 
which  he  felt  pulling  him  with  resistless  power,  his  own 
weaker  intellect  kept  playing  pranks  with  his  memory. 

He  recalled  the  position  of  the  bodies  which  they  had 
left  in  the  darkness.  He  had  seen  them  by  the  light  of 
the  lantern  which  Brown  had  flashed  each  time  before 
leaving.  He  remembered  with  a  shiver  that  the  two  Doyle 
boys  had  died  with  their  big  soft  blue  eyes  wide  open,  star- 
ing upward  at  the  starlit  skies.  He  wondered  if  the  rain 
had  beaten  their  eyelids  down. 

A  blinding  flash  filled  the  sky  and  lighted  every  nook 
and  corner  of  the  woods  and  fields.  He  shook  at  its  glare 
and  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  For  a  moment  he  could 
see  nothing  but  the  wide  staring  gaze  upward  of  those 
stalwart  young  bodies.  He  shivered  and  turned  away  from 
the  leader. 

The  next  moment  found  him  again  watching  the  look  of 
victory  on  the  terrible  face. 

As  the  lightning  played  about  Brown's  form  he  won- 
dered at  the  impression  of  age  he  gave  with  his  face  turned 
away  and  his  figure  motionless.    He  was  barely  fifty-seven 
and  yet  he  looked  seventy-five,  until  he  moved. 
^       The  moment  his  wiry  body  moved  there  was  something 
1  uncanny  in  the  impression  he  gave  of  a  wild  animal  caught 
in  human  form. 

Brown  had  tired  waiting  for  the  shower  to  pass  and 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 181 

had  begun  to  pace  back  and  forth  with  his  swinging, 
springy  step.  When  he  passed,  Townsley  instinctively 
drew  aside.  He  knew  that  he  was  a  coward  and  yet  he 
couldn't  feel  the  consciousness  of  cowardice  in  giving  this 
man  room.  It  was  common  sense. 

The  storm  passed  as  swiftly  as  it  came. 

Without  a  word  the  leader  gave  the  signal.  His  men 
mounted  the  stolen  horses.  With  Townsley's  grays  and 
Weiner's  pony  the  huntsmen  returned  to  the  camp  in  the 
ravine,  a  procession  of  cavalry. 

The  eastern  sky  was  whitening  with  the  first  touch  of 
the  coming  sun  when  they  dismounted. 

The  leader  ordered  the  fire  built  and  a  hearty  break- 
fast cooked  for  each  man.  As  was  his  custom  he  wan- 
dered from  the  camp  alone,  his  arms  gripped  behind  his 
stooped  back.  He  climbed  the  hill,  stood  on  its  crest  and 
watched  the  prairie. 

The  storm  had  passed  from  west  to  east.  On  the  east- 
ern horizon  a  low  fringe  of  clouds  was  still  slowly  moving. 
They  lay  in  long  ribbons  of  dazzling  light.  The  sun's  rays 
flashed  through  them  every  color  of  the  rainbow.  Now 
they  were  a  deep  purple,  growing  brighter  with  each  mo- 
ment, until  every  flower  in  the  waving  fields  was  touched 
with  its  glory.  The  purple  melted  into  orange;  the 
waving  fields  were  set  with  dazzling  buttercups ;  the  but- 
tercups became  poppies.  And  then  the  mounting  sun 
kissed  the  clouds  again.  They  blushed  scarlet,  and  the 
fields  were  red. 

The  grim  face  gave  no  sign  that  he  saw  the  glory  and 
beauty  of  a  wonderful  Sabbath  morning.  His  figure  was 
rigid.  His  eyes  set.  A  sweet  odor  seemed  to  come  from 
the  scarlet  rays  of  the  sun.  The  man  lifted  his  head  in 
surprise  to  find  the  direction  from  which  the  perfume 
came. 


182 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

He  looked  at  the  ground  and  saw  that  he  was  standing 
in  a  bed  of  ripening  wild  strawberries. 

He  turned  from  the  sunrise,  stooped  and  ate  the  fruit. 
He  was  ravenously  hungry.  His  hunger  satisfied,  he 
walked  deliberately  back  to  camp  as  the  white  light  of  day 
flooded  the  clean  fields  and  woods. 

He  called  his  men  about  the  fire  and  searched  for  marks 
of  the  night's  work.  As  the  full  rim  of  the  sun  crept  over 
the  eastern  hills  and  its  first  rays  quivered  on  the  surface 
of  the  water,  the  huntsmen  knelt  by  the  bank  of  the  Potta- 
wattomie  and  washed  the  stains  from  their  swords,  hands 
and  clothes. 

Breakfast  finished,  the  leader  divided  among  his  heads- 
men the  goods  stolen  from  his  victims  and  called  his  men 
to  Sunday  prayers. 

With  folded  hands  and  head  erect  in  the  attitude  of 
victory  he  read  from  memory  a  passage  from  the  old 
Hebrew  prophet,  singing  in  triumph  over  the  enemies  of 
the  Lord.  From  the  scripture  recitation,  given  in  tones  so 
cold  and  impersonal  that  they  made  Townsley  shiver,  his 
voice  drifted  into  prayer : 

"We  thank  thee,  oh,  Lord,  God  of  Hosts,  for  the  glori- 
ous victory  Thou  hast  given  us  this  night  over  Thy  ene- 
mies. We  have  heard  Thy  voice.  We  have  obeyed  Thy 
commands.  The  wicked  have  been  laid  low.  And  Thy 
glory  shines  throughout  the  world  on  this  beautiful  Sab- 
bath morning.  Make  strong,  oh,  God,  the  arms  of  Thy 
children  for  the  work  that  is  yet  before  them.  Thou  art 
a  jealous  God.  Thou  dost  rejoice  always  in  blood  offer- 
ings on  Thy  altars.  We  have  this  night  brought  to  Thee 
and  laid  before  Thy  face  the  five  offerings  which  the  sins 
of  man  have  demanded.  May  this  blood  seem  good  in  Thy 
sight,  oh,  God,  as  it  is  glorious  in  the  eyes  of  Thy  servant 
whom  Thou  hast  anointed  to  do  Thy  will.  May  it  be  as 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 183 

seed  sown  in  good  ground.  May  it  bring  forth  a  harvest 
whose  red  glory  shall  cover  the  earth,  even  as  the  rays  of 
the  sun  have  baptized  our  skies  this  morning.  We  wait 
the  coming  of  Thy  Kingdom,  oh,  Lord,  God  of  Hosts. 
Speed  the  day  we  humbly  pray.  Amen." 

Townsley's  eyes  had  gradually  opened  at  the  tones  of\ 
weird,  religious  ecstasy  with  which  the  last  sentences  of 
the  prayer  were  spoken.  He  was  staring  at  Brown's  face. 
It  was  radiant  with  a  strange  joy.  He  had  not  smiled; 
but  he  was  happy  for  a  moment.  His  happiness  was  so 
unusual,  so  sharply  in  contrast  with  his  habitual  mood, 
the  sight  of  it  chilled  Townsley's  soul. 


CHAPTER  XX 

STUART  succeeded  in  securing  from  Colonel  Sumner 
a  leave  of  absence  of  two  weeks  to  visit  Fort  Riley. 
The  Colonel  suspected  the  truth  and  teased  the  gal- 
lant youngster  until  he  confessed. 

He  handed  Stuart  the  order  with  a  hearty  laugh. 

"It's  all  right,  my  boy.  I've  been  young  myself.  Good 
luck." 

Stuart's  laughter  rang  clear  and  hearty. 

"Thank  you,  Colonel.    You  had  me  scared." 

He  had  just  turned  to  leave  the  room  when  a  messenger 
handed  Sumner  a  telegram. 

Stuart  paused  to  hear  the  message. 

"Bad  news,  Lieutenant." 

"What,  sir?" 

"An  attack  has  been  made  on  the  Southern  settlement 
on  the  Pottawattomie." 

"A  drunken  fight—" 

"No.  Wilkinson,  the  member  of  the  Legislature  from 
Miami  County,  was  taken  from  his  house  in  the  night  and 
murdered." 

"The  story's  a  fake,"  Stuart  ventured. 

"The  man  who  sent  this  message  doesn't  make  such  mis- 
takes." 

He  paused  and  studied  the  telegram. 

184 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 185 

"No.  This  means  the  beginning  of  a  blood  feud.  The 
time's  ripe  for  it." 

"We'll  have  better  news  to-morrow,"  Stuart  hoped. 

"We'll  have  worse.  I've  been  looking  for  something 
like  this  since  the  day  I  heard  old  Brown  harangue  a 
mob  at  Lawrence." 

He  stopped  short. 

"You'll  have  to  give  me  back  that  order,  my  boy." 

Stuart's  face  fell. 

"Colonel,  I've  just  got  to  see  that  girl,  if  it's  only  for 
a  day—" 

He  slowly  handed  the  order  back  to  the  Commandant. 
Sumner  watched  the  red  blood  mount  to  Stuart's  face  with 
a  look  of  sympathy. 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that,  boy?" 

"It  couldn't  be  worse,  sir,"  Stuart  admitted  in  low 
tones.  "I'm  a  goner." 

"All  right.  You've  no  time  to  lose.  I'll  give  you  three 
days—" 

"Thank  you !" 

"This  regiment  will  be  on  the  march  before  a  week  has 
passed  or  I  miss  my  guess." 

"I'll  be  here,  sir!"  was  the  quick  response. 

Stuart  grasped  the  leave  of  absence  and  hurried  out 
before  another  messenger  could  arrive. 

He  reached  Fort  Riley  the  following  day  and  had  but 
twenty-four  hours  in  which  to  crowd  the  most  important 
event  of  his  life. 

He  paced  the  floor  in  Colonel  Cooke's  reception  room 
awaiting  Flora's  appearance  with  eager  impatience.  What 
on  earth  could  be  keeping  her?  He  asked  himself  the 
question  fifty  times  and  looked  at  his  watch  a  dozen  times 
before  he  heard  the  rustle  of  organdie  on  the  stairs. 

A  vision  of  radiant  youth !    She  had  taken  time  to  make 


186 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

her  beauty  still  more  radiant  with  the  daintiest  touches  to 
her  blonde  hair. 

The  simple  dress  she  wore  was  a  poem.  The  young 
cavalier  was  stunned  anew.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
the  welcome  in  her  smile  and  voice.  It  thrilled  him  to  his 
fingertips.  He  held  her  hand  until  she  drew  it  away  with 
a  little  self-conscious  laugh  that  was  confusing  to  Stuart's 
plan  of  direct  action. 

There  was  a  touch  of  the  Southern  girl's  conscious 
poise  and  coquetry  in  the  laugh.  There  was  something 
aloof  in  it  that  meant  trouble.  He  felt  it  with  positive 
terror.  He  didn't  have  time  to  fence  for  position.  He 
was  in  no  mood  for  a  flirtation.  He  had  come  to  speak  the 
deep  things. 

She  led  him  to  a  seat  witH  an  air  of  dignity  and  reserve 
that  alarmed  him  still  more.  He  had  taken  too  much 
for  granted  perhaps.  There  might  be  another  man.  Con- 
ceited fool !  He  hadn't  thought  it  possible.  Her  manner 
had  been  so  frank,  so  utterly  sincere. 

She  sat  by  his  side  smiling  at  him  in  the  bewitching  way 
so  many  pretty  girls  had  done  before,  when  they  merely 
wished  to  play  with  love. 

He  spoke  in  commonplaces  and  studied  her  with  in- 
creasing panic.  Her  tactics  baffled  him.  Until  at  last  he 
believed  he  had  solved  the  riddle !  She  had  suddenly  waked 
to  the  fact,  as  he  had,  that  she  had  met  her  fate.  She 
was  drawing  back  for  a  moment  in  fright  at  the  serious- 
ness of  surrender. 

"Yes,  that's  it !"  he  murmured  half  aloud. 

"What  did  you  say?"  she  asked  archly. 

And  his  heart  sank  again.  She  asked  the  question  witK 
a  tone  of  teasing  that  made  him  blush  in  spite  of  himself. 

With  sudden  resolution  he  decided  to  make  the  plunge. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  187 

He  seized  her  hand  and  spoke  with  a  queer  hitch  of  awk- 
wardness in  his  voice. 

"Miss  Flora,  I've  just  twenty-four  hours  to  be  here. 
Every  one  of  them  is  precious.  I  want  to  make  them 
count.  Don't  you  know  that  I  love  you?" 

The  little  mouth  twitched  with  a  smile. 

"I've  heard  that  you're  very  fickle,  Mr.  Jeb  Stuart. 
Isn't  this  all  very,  very  sudden,  to  be  so  serious  ?" 

She  was  still  smiling  and  her  eyes  were  twinkling,  but 
her  hand  was  not  trembling.  She  was  complete  mistress 
of  her  emotions. 

Stuart  felt  his  heart  pounding.  He  couldn't  keep  his 
hand  from  trembling,  nor  his  voice  from  quivering  slightly. 

"I  know  I've  been  a  little  quick  on  the  trigger,  Miss 
Flora.  But  it  came  to  me  in  a  flash,  the  moment  I  saw 
you.  I've  had  a  good  time  with  pretty  girls — yes.  But 
I  never  felt  that  way  when  I  met  one  of  the  others.  And 
now  I'm  stammering  and  trembling  and  I  don't  know  how 
to  talk  to  you.  I  can't  rattle  on  like  I've  done  so  many 
times.  You — you've  got  me,  dear  honey  girl,  for  life,  if 
you  want  me — please — be  good  to  me." 

She  laughed  a  joyous,  girlish  peal  that  disconcerted 
him  completely. 

"My  daddy's  been  warning  me  against  you,  sir !" 

Stuart  suddenly  caught  a  note  in  her  laughter  that  gave 
him  courage.  She  was  not  laughing  at  him  but  with  him. 

"He  did  not,"  he  protested  solemnly.  "Colonel  Cooke 
was  just  as  nice  to  me  as  he  could  be — " 

"Certainly.  He's  an  Old  Virginia  gentleman.  Behind 
your  back  he  told  me  confidentially  what  he  thought  of 
you." 

"All  right.  I  dare  you  to  cross  your  heart  and  tell  me 
what  he  said." 

"Dare  me?" 


188  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Dee  double  dare  you." 

"He  said  that  you're  a  sad  product  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  novels,  a  singing,  rollicking,  flirting,  lazy  young 
cavalier." 

"Didn't  say  lazy." 

"No." 

"I  thought  not." 

"I  added  that  for  good  measure." 

"I  thought  so." 

"And  he  warned  me  that  there  might  be  a  streak  of  the 
old  Stuart  purple  blood  in  your  veins  that  might  make  you 
silly  for  life—" 

"Didn't  say  silly." 

"No,  I  added  that,  too." 

Stuart  again  seized  the  hand  she  had  deftly  withdrawn. 
He  pressed  it  tenderly  and  sought  the  depths  of  her  blue 
eyes. 

"Ah,  honey  girl,"  hie  cried  passionately,  "don't  tease 
me  any  more,  please !  I've  got  to  leave  you  in  a  few  hours. 
My  regiment  is  going  to  march.  It  may  be  a  serious  busi- 
ness. You're  a  brave  soldier's  daughter  and  you're  going 
to  be  a  soldier's  bride." 

The  girl's  lips  quivered  for  the  first  time  and  her  voice 
trembled  the  slightest  bit  as  she  fought  for  self-control. 

"I'll  never  marry  a  soldier." 

"You  will !" 

"My  daddy's  never  at  home.  I  promised  my  mother 
never  to  look  at  a  soldier." 

"You're  looking  at  me,  dear  heart !" 

She  turned  quickly. 

"I  won't—" 

Stuart  drew  her  suddenly  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"I  love  you,  Flora !    And  you're  mine." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 189 

She  looked  into  his  eyes,  smiled,  slipped  both  arms 
around  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 

"And  I  love  you,  my  foolish,  singing,  laughing  boy !" 

"Always?" 

"Always." 

"And  you'll  marry  me?" 

"You  couldn't  get  away  from  me  if  you  tried." 

She  drew  him  down  and  kissed  him  again. 

"The  shadow  will  always  be  in  my  heart,  dear  soldier 
man.  The  shadow  of  the  day  I  shall  lose  you!  But  it's 
life.  I'll  face  it  with  a  smile." 

Through  the  long,  sweet  hours  of  the  day  and  deep  into 
the  night  they  held  each  other's  hand,  and  talked  and 
laughed  and  dreamed  and  planned. 

What  mattered  the  shadow  that  was  slowly  moving 
across  the  sunlit  earth  ?  It  was  the  morning  of  life ! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  eight  men  engaged  in  the  remarkable  enterprise 
on  the  Pottawattomie,  led  by  their  indomitable 
Captain,  mounted  their  stolen  horses  and  boldly 
rode  to  the  camp  of  the  military  company  commanded  by 
John  Brown,  Jr.  The  father  planned  to  make  his  stand 
behind  these  guns  if  pursued  by  formidable  foes. 

Brown  reached  the  camp  of  the  Rifles  near  Ottawa 
Jones'  farm  at  midnight.  The  fires  still  burned  brightly. 
To  his  surprise  he  found  that  the  news  of  the  murders  had 
traveled  faster  than  the  stolen  horses. 

The  camp  was  demoralized. 

John  Brown,  Jr.,  had  been  forced  to  resign  as  Captain 
and  H.  H.  Williams  had  been  elected  in  his  stead. 

The  reception  which  the  County  was  giving  his  inspired 
ideed  stunned  the  leader.  He  had  expected  a  reign  of  ter- 
ror. But  the  terror  had  seized  his  own  people.  He  was 
compelled  to  lie  and  deny  his  guilt  except  to  his  own  flesh 
and  blood.  Even  before  his  sons  he  was  arraigned  with 
fierce  condemnation. 

On  the  outer  edge  of  the  panic-stricken  camp  his  sons, 
Jason  and  John,  Jr.,  faced  him  with  trembling  and  horror 
in  their  voices. 

Jason  had  denounced  the  first  hint  of  the  plan  when 
the  surveyor's  scheme  was  broached.  John,  Jr.  had  re- 
fused to  move  a  step  on  the  expedition.  The  two  sons 

190 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 191 

confronted  their  father  with  determined  questions.  He 
shifted  and  evaded  the  issue. 

Jason  squared  himself  and  demanded: 

"Did  you  kill  those  men?" 

"I  did  not,"  was  the  sharp  answer. 

The  son  held  his  shifting  eye  by  the  glare  of  tHe  camp 
fire. 

"Did  you  have  anything  to  do  with  the  killing  of  those 
men?" 

To  his  own  he  would  not  lie  longer.  It  wasn't  neces- 
sary. His  reply  was  quick  and  unequivocal. 

"I  did  not  do  it.    But  I  approved  it." 

"It  was  the  work  of  a  beast." 

"You  cannot  speak  to  me  like  that,  sir!"  the  old  man 
growled. 

"And  why  not?" 

"I  am  your  father,  sir !" 

"That's  why  I  tell  you  to  your  face  that  you  have  dis- 
graced every  child  who  bears  your  name — now — and  for 
all  time.  What  right  had  you  to  put  this  curse  upon  me? 
The  devils  in  hell  would  blush  to  do  what  you  have  done !" 

The  father  lifted  his  hand  as  if  to  ward  a  blow  anid 
bored  his  son  through  with  a  steady  stare. 

"God  is  my  judge — not  you,  sir!" 

John  Brown,  Jr.,  sided  with  his  brother  in  the  attack 
but  with  less  violence.  His  feebler  mind  was  already 
trembling  on  the  verge  of  collapse. 

"It  cuts  me  to  the  quick,"  the  old  man  finally  answered, 
"that  my  own  people  should  not  understand  that  I  had  to 
make  an  example  of  these  men — " 

Jason  finally  shrieked  into  his  ears : 

"Who  gave  you  the  authority  of  Almighty  God  to  sit 
in  judgment  upon  your  fellow  man,  condemn  him  without 
trial  and  slay  without  mercy?" 


192  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

The  father  threw  up  both  hands  in  a  gesture  of  disgust 
and  walked  from  the  scene.  He  spent  the  night  without 
sleep,  wandering  through  the  woods  and  fields. 

Three  days  later  while  Brown  and  his  huntsmen  were 
still  hiding  in  the  timber,  the  people  of  his  own  settlement 
at  Osawatomie  held  a  public  meeting  which  was  attended 
by  the  entire  male  population.  They  unanimously  adopted 
resolutions  condemning  in  the  bitterest  terms  the  deed. 

When  the  old  man  heard  of  these  resolutions  he  ground 
his  teeth  in  rage.  He  had  thought  to  sweep  the  Territory 
with  a  Holy  War  in  a  Sacred  Cause.  He  expected  the 
men  who  hated  Slavery  to  applaud  his  Blood  Offering  to 
the  God  of  Freedom.  Instead  they  had  hastened  to  array 
themselves  with  his  foes. 

Something  had  gone  wrong  in  the  execution  of  his  di- 
vine vision.  His  mind  was  stunned  for  the  moment.  But 
he  was  wrestling  again  with  God  in  prayer,  while  the 
avengers  were  riding  to  demand  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a 
tooth  for  a  tooth. 

When  the  true  history  of  man  is  written  it  will  be  the 
record  of  mind  not  the  story  of  the  physical  acts  which 
follow  the  mental  process. 

The  dangers  of  society  are  psychological,  not  physical. 
The  crucial  moments  of  human  history  are  not  found  in 
the  hours  in  which  armies  charge.  They  are  found  in  the 
still  small  voices  that  whisper  in  the  silence  of  the  night  to 
a  lone  watcher  by  the  fireside.  They  are  found  in  the 
words  of  will  that  follow  hours  of  silent  thought  behind 
locked  doors  or  under  the  stars. 

The  story  of  man's  progress,  his  relapses  to  barbarism, 
his  victories,  his  failures,  his  years  of  savage  cruelties,  his 
eras  of  happiness  and  sorrow,  must  be  written  at  last  in 
terms  of  mental  states. 

John  Brown's  mind  had  conceived  and  executed  the  se- 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 193 

ries  of  murders  that  shocked  even  a  Western  frontier.  His 
mind  enacted  the  tragedy  days  before  the  actual  hap- 
pening. 

And  it  was  the  state  of  mind  created  by  the  deed  that 
upset  all  his  calculations.  The  reaction  was  overwhelm- 
ing. He  was  correct  in  his  faith  that  a  blood  feud  once 
raised,  all  appeal  to  reason  and  common  sense,  all  appeal 
to  law,  order,  tradition,  religion  would  be  vain  babble. 
But  he  had  failed  to  gauge  the  moral  sense  of  his  own  / 
party.  They  had  not  yet  accepted  the  theory  which  he, 
held  with  such  passionate  conviction. 

Brown's  moral  code  was  summed  up  in  one  passage  from 
the  Bible  which  he  quoted  and  brooded  over  daily : 

"WITHOUT  THE  SHEDDING  OF  BLOOD  THERE  is  NO  RE- 
MISSION OF  SINS." 

But  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  the  spot  chosen  for  rous- 
ing the  Blood  Feud.  Men  had  instantly  seen  red.  They 
sprang  to  their  arms.  They  leaped  as  tigers  leap  on  their 
prey.  But  his  own  people  were  the  prey.  He  had  miscal- 
culated the  conditions  of  frontier  life,  though  he  had  not 
yet  realized  it.  His  stubborn,  restless  mind  clung  to  the 
idea  that  the  stark  horror  of  the  crimes  which  he  had  com- 
mitted in  the  name  of  Liberty  would  call  at  last  all  men 
who  stood  for  Freedom. 

He  held  his  armed  band  in  camp  under  the  sternest  dis- 
cipline to  await  this  call  of  the  blood. 

The  Southern  avengers  who  swarmed  across  the  Mis- 
souri border  into  the  region  of  Osawatomie  accepted 
Brown's  standards  of  justice  and  mercy  without  question. 
A  few  men  of  education  among  them  were  the  only  re- 
straining influence. 

Through  these  exciting  days  the  old  man  would  show 
himself  at  daylight  in  different  places  removed  from  his 
camp  in  the  woods.  While  squadrons  of  avengers  were 


194 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

scouring  the  ravines,  the  river  bottoms  and  the  tangled 
underbrush,  he  was  lying  quietly  on  his  arms.  Sometimes 
his  pursuers  camped  within  hearing  and  got  their  water 
from  the  same  spring. 

With  all  his  indomitable  courage  he  was  unable  to  rally 
sufficient  men  to  afford  protection  to  his  people.  He  was 
ia  fugitive  from  justice  with  a  price  on  his  head.  Yet, 
armed  and  surrounded  by  a  small  band  of  faithful  fol- 
lowers, he  led  a  charmed  life. 

His  deed  on  the  Pottawattomie  made  murder  the  chief 
sport  of  the  unhappy  Territory.  The  life  of  the  frontier 
was  reduced  to  anarchy.  Outrages  became  so  common  it 
was  impossible  to  record  them.  Murder  was  a  daily  in- 
cident. Many  of  them  passed  in  secret.  Many  were  not 
revealed  for  days  and  weeks  after  they  had  been  committed 
— then,  only  by  the  discovery  of  the  moldering  remains 
of  the  dead.  Two  men  were  found  hanging  on  a  tree  near 
Westport.  They  were  ill-fated  Free  State  partisans  who 
had  fallen  by  the  hand  of  the  avengers.  The  troops  buried 
them  in  a  grave  so  shallow  that  the  prairie  wolves  had 
half  devoured  them  before  they  were  again  found  and 
re-buried. 

The  Free  Soil  men  organized  guerilla  bands  for  re- 
taliation. John  E.  Cook,  a  daring  young  adventurer,  the 
brother-in-law  of  Governor  Willard  of  Indiana,  early  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  this  work.  He  put  himself  at  the 
head  of  a  group  of  twenty  young  "Cavalry  Scouts"  who 
ranged  the  country,  asking  no  quarter  and  giving  nonei 

A  squadron  of  avengers  invaded  Brown's  settlement  at 
Osawatomie,  sacked  and  partly  destroyed  it,  and  killed 
his  son,  Frederick,  whose  mind  had  been  in  a  state  of  col- 
lapse since  the  night  of  the  murders  on  the  Pottawattomie. 

John  Brown  rallied  a  group  of  sympathizers  and  fought 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 195 

a  pitched  battle  with  the  invaders  but  was  defeated  witK 
bloody  losses  and  compelled  to  retreat. 

He  was  followed  by  Deputy  United  States  Marshal, 
Henry  C.  Pate.  Brown  turned  and  boldly  attacked  Pate's 
camp  and  another  battle  ensued.  The  Deputy  Marshal, 
wishing  to  avoid  useless  bloodshed,  sent  out  a  flag  of  truce 
and  asked  an  interview  with  the  guerilla  commander. 
Brown  answered  promptly,  advanced  and  sent  for  Pate. 

Pate,  trusting  the  flag  of  truce,  approached  the  old 
man. 

"I  am  addressing  the  Captain  in  command  ?"  Pate  asked. 

"You  are,  sir." 

"Then  let  me  announce  that  I  am  a  Deputy  United 
States  Marshal." 

"And  why  are  you  fighting  us?" 

"I  have  no  desire  for  bloodshed,  sir.  I  am  acting  under 
the  orders  of  the  Marshal  of  the  Territory." 

"And  what  does  the  Marshal  demand?" 

"The  arrest  of  the  men  for  whom  I  have  warrants." 

Pate  had  never  seen  John  Brown  and  had  no  idea  that 
he  was  talking  to  the  old  man  himself. 

"I  have  a  proposition  to  make,"  he  went  on. 

"I'll  have  no  proposals  from  you,  sir,"  Brown  an- 
nounced shortly.  "I  demand  your  surrender." 

"I  am  an  officer  of  the  law.  I  cannot  surrender  to 
armed  outlaws." 

Brown's  metallic  voice  quivered. 

"I  demand  your  immediate  and  unconditional  sur- 
render !" 

"I  have  the  right  to  retire  under  a  flag  of  truce  an3 
consider  your  proposition  with  my  men — " 

Pate  started  to  go  and  Brown  stood  in  front  of  him. 

"You're  not  going." 

"You  will  violate  a  flag  of  truce?" 


196 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Brown  signaled  his  men  to  advance  and  surround  Pate. 

"You're  not  going,  sir,"  he  repeated. 

"I  claim  my  rights  under  a  flag  of  truce  accepted  by 
you  for  this  parley.  An  Indian  respects  that  flag." 

Brown  pointed  to  his  men  who  were  standing  within  the 
sound  of  their  voices. 

"Order  those  men  to  surrender.*' 

Pate  folded  his  arms  and  remained  silent. 

Brown  placed  his  revolver  at  the  Deputy  Marshal's 
breast  and  shouted. 

"Tell  your  men  to  lay  down  their  arms !" 

Pate  refused  to  speak.  There  was  a  moment's  deadly 
silence  and  the  Marshal's  posse,  to  save  the  life  of  their 
Captain,  threw  down  their  guns  and  the  whole  party  were 
made  prisoners. 

The  United  States  Cavalry  at  Fort  Leavenworth  were 
ordered  to  the  scene  to  rescue  the  Deputy  Marshal  and 
his  men. 


CHAPTER  XXH 

THE  bugles  at  Fort  Leavenworth  sounded  Boots  and 
Saddles  for  the  march  on  Brown  and  his  guerillas. 
The  barracks  were  early  astir  with  the  excite- 
ment. Stern  work  might  be  ahead.  Outlaws  who  would 
dare  violate  a  flag  of  truce,  to  take  a  United  States  Mar- 
shal and  his  posse  would  have  no  more  respect  for  cavalry. 
The  men  and  officers  were  tired  of  disorder.  Th«y  were 
eager  for  a  stand  up  and  knock  down  fight.  They  expected 
it  and  they  were  ready  for  it. 

Stuart's  bride  was  crying.  In  spite  of  her  young  hus- 
band's gay  banter,  she  persisted  in  being  serious. 

"There's  no  danger,  honey  girl !"  he  laughed. 

She  touched  the  big  cavalry  pistol  in  its  holster,  her 
lips  still  trembling. 

"No — you're  just  galloping  off  on  a  picnic." 

"That's  all  it  will  be—" 

"Then  you  can  take  me  with  you." 

Stuart's  brow  cloudeH. 

"Well,  no,  not  just  that  kind  of  a  picnic." 

"There  may  be  a  nasty  fight  and  you  know  it." 

"Nonsense." 

"It  may,  too." 

"Don't  be  silly,  little  bride,"  he  pleaded.  "You're  a 
soldier's  wife  now.  The  bullet  hasn't  been  molded  that's 
going  to  get  me.  I  feel  it.  I  know  it." 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  held  him  in  a 
long  silence.  Only  a  sob  broke  the  stillness.  He  let  her 

197 


198 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

cry.  His  arms  merely  tightened  their  tender  hold,  as  he 
caressed  her  fair  head  and  kissed  it. 

"There,  there,  now.  That's  enough.  It's  hard,  this 
first  parting.  It's  hard  for  me.  You  mustn't  make  it 
harder." 

"We've  just  begun  to  live,  dearest,"  she  faltered.  "I 
can't  let  you  go.  I  can't  stand  it  for  an  hour  and  you'll 
be  gone  for  days  and  days — " 

She  paused  and  sobbed. 

"Why  did  I  marry  a  soldier-man?" 

"You  had  to,  honey.     It  was  fate.     God  willed  it." 

He  spoke  with  deep  reverence.  She  lifted  her  lips  for 
his  goodbye  kiss. 

He  turned  quickly  to  go  and  she  caught  him  again  and 
smothered  him  with  kisses. 

"I  can't  help  it,  darling  man,"  she  sobbed.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  make  it  hard  for  you — but — I've  an  awful  pre- 
sentiment that  I  shall  lose  you — 

Her  voice  died  again  in  a  pathetic  whisper. 

Stuart  laughed  softly  and  kissed  the  tears  from  her 
eyes. 

"So  has  every  soldier's  wife,  honey  girl.  The  silly  old 
presentiment  is  overworked.  It  will  pass  bye  and  bye — 
when  you  see  me  coming  home  so  many,  many  times  to  play 
that  old  banjo  for  you  and  sing  our  songs  over  again." 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 

"Go  now — quick,"  she  said,  "before  I  break  down 
again." 

He  swung  out  the  door,  his  sword  clanking  and  his  arm 
waving.  She  watched  him  from  the  window,  crying.  She 
saw  him  mount  his  horse  with  a  graceful  swing.  His  figure 
on  horseback  was  superb.  Horse  and  man  seemed  one. 

He  looked  over  his  shoulder,  saw  her  at  the  window  and 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 199 

waved  again.  She  ran  to  her  room,  closed  the  door,  took 
his  picture  to  bed  with  her  and  cried  herself  to  sleep. 

The  thing1  that  had  so  worried  her  was  that  Colonel 
Sumner  was  taking  Major  Sedgwick  with  him  for  con- 
ference and  a  single  squadron  of  fifty  men  under  Stuart's 
command.  The  little  bride  had  found  out  that  he  was  the 
sole  leader  of  the  fifty  fighting  men  and  her  quick  wit  had 
sensed  the  danger  of  the  possible  extermination  of  such  a 
force  in  a  battle  with  desperadoes.  She  was  ashamed  of 
her  breakdown.  But  she  knew  her  man  was  brave  and 
that  he  loved  a  fight.  She  would  count  the  hours  until  his 
return. 

Brown  rallied  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  when  the  squad- 
ron of  cavalry  was  ordered  to  the  rescue  of  Pate  and  his 
posse.  He  entrenched  himself  on  an  island  in  Middle 
Ottawa  Creek  and  from  this  stronghold  raided  and  robbed 
the  stores  within  range  of  his  guerillas.  On  June  3rd,  he 
successfully  looted  the  store  of  J.  M.  Bernard  at  Cen- 
tropolis  and  secured  many  valuables,  particularly  cloth- 
ing. 

The  raiding  party  was  returning  from  the  looted  store 
as  Stuart's  cavalry  troop  was  approaching  Brown's  camp. 

The  cavalry  arrived  in  the  nick  of  time.  A  battle  was 
imminent  that  might  Have  ended  in  a  massacre.  Within 
striking  distance  of  Brown's  island  Colonel  Sumner  en- 
countered General  Whitfield,  a  Southern  Member  of  Con- 
gress, at  the  head  of  a  squadron  of  avengers,  two  hundred 
and  fifty  strong,  heavily  armed  and  well  mounted. 

Sumner  acted  with  quick  decision.  He  confronted 
Whitfield  and  spoke  with  a  quiet  emphasis  not  to  be  mis- 
taken : 

"By  order  of  the  President  of  the  United  States  and  the 
Governor  of  the  Territory,  I  am  here  to  disperse  all  armed 
bodies  assembled  without  authority." 


200 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"May  I  see  the  order  of  the  President,  sir?"  Whitfield 
asked. 

"You  may." 

The  telegraphic  order  was  handed  to  the  leader.  He 
read  it  in  silence  and  handed  it  back  without  a  word. 

Colonel  Sumner  continued: 

"My  duty  is  plain  and  I'll  do  it." 

He  signaled  Stuart  to  draw  up  his  company  for  action. 
The  Lieutenant  promptly  obeyed.  Fifty  regulars  wheeled 
and  faced  two  hundred  and  fifty  rugged  horsemen  of  the 
plains. 

Whitfield  consulted  his  second  in  command  and  while 
they  talked  Colonel  Sumner  again  addressed  him: 

"Ask  your  people  to  assemble.  I  wish  to  read  to  them 
the  President's  order  and  the  Governor's  proclamation." 

Whitfield  called  his  men.  In  solemn  tones  Sumner  read 
the  documents.  Whitfield  saw  that  his  men  were  impressed. 

"I  shall  not  resist  the  authority  of  the  General  Govern- 
ment. My  party  will  disperse." 

He  promptly  ordered  them  to  disband.  In  five  minutes 
they  had  disappeared. 

On  the  approach  of  the  company  of  cavalry,  John 
Brown,  with  a  single  guard,  walked  boldly  forward  to 
meet  them. 

Colonel  Sumner  heard  his  amazing  request  with  rising 
wrath.  He  spoke  as  one  commanding  a  body  of  coordi- 
nate power. 

"I  have  come  to  suggest  the  arrangement  of  terms  be- 
tween our  forces,"  Brown  coolly  suggested. 

"No  officer  of  law,  sir,"  Sumner  sternly  replied,  "can 
make  terms  with  lawless,  armed  men.  I  am  here  to  execute 
the  orders  of  the  President.  You  will  surrender  your 
prisoners  immediately,  disarm  your  men  and  disperse  or 
take  the  consequences." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 201 

Brown  turned  without  a  word  and  slowly  walked  back 
to  his  camp.  The  United  States  cavalry  followed  close 
at  his  heels  with  drawn  sabers,  Stuart  at  their  head. 

Colonel  Sumner  summoned  Brown  before  Sedgwick  and 
Stuart  and  made  to  him  an  announcement  which  he  thought 
but  fair. 

"I  must  tell  you  now  that  there  is  with  my  company  a 
Deputy  United  States  Marshal,  who  holds  warrants  for 
several  men  in  your  camp.  Those  warrants  will  be  served 
in  my  presence." 

Brown's  glittering  eye  rested  on  the  Deputy  Marshal. 
He  moved  uneasily  and  finally  said  in  a  low  tone : 

"I  don't  recognize  any  one  for  whom  I  have  warrants." 

The  grim  face  of  the  man  of  visions  never  relaxed  a 
muscle. 

Sumner  turned  to  the  Deputy  indignantly. 

"Then  what  are  you  here  for?" 

He  made  no  answer.     And  Stuart  laughed  in  derision. 

During  this  tense  moment  the  keen  blue  eyes  of  the  Lieu- 
tenant of  cavalry  studied  John  Brown  with  the  interest  of 
a  soldier  in  the  man  who  knows  not  fear. 

At  first  glance  he  was  a  sorry  figure.  He  was  lean  and 
gaunt  and  looked  taller  than  he  was  for  that  reason.  His 
face  was  deeply  sun  tanned  and  seamed.  He  looked  a 
rough,  hard-working  o!3  farmer.  The  decided  stoop  of 
his  shoulders  gave  the  exaggerated  impression  of  age. 
His  face  was  shaved.  He  wore  a  coarse  cotton  shirt,  a 
clean  one  that  had  just  been  stolen  from  Bernard's  store. 
It  was  partly  covered  by  a  vest.  His  hat  was  an  old 
slouche3  felt,  well  worn.  In  general  appearance  he  was 
dilapidated,  dusty,  and  soiled. 

The  young  officer  was  too  keen  a  judge  of  character  to 
be  deceived  by  clothes  on  a  Western  frontier.  The  dusty 
clothes  and  worn  hat  he  scarcely  saw.  It  was  the  terrible 


202  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

i  mouth  that  caught  and  held  his  imagination.  It  was  the 
mouth  of  a  relentless  foe.  It  was  the  mouth  of  a  man 
who  might  speak  the  words  of  surrender  when  cornered. 
But  he  could  no  more  surrender  than  he  could  jump  out 
of  his  skin. 

Stuart  was  willing  to  risk  his  life  on  a  wager  tKat  if  he 
consented  to  lay  down  his  arms,  he  had  more  concealed 
and  that  he  would  sleep  on  them  that  night  in  the  brush. 

The  low  forehead  and  square,  projecting  chin  caught 
and  held  his  fancy.  It  was  the  jaw  and  chin  of  the  fight- 
ing animal.  No  man  who  studied  that  jaw  would  care 
to  meet  it  in  the  dark. 

But  the  thing  that  had  put  the  Deputy  out  of  commis- 
sion as  warrant  officer  of  the  Government  was  the  old 
man's  strange,  restless  eyes.  Stuart  caught  their  steel 
glitter  with  a  sense  of  the  uncanny.  He  had  never  seen 
a  human  eye  that  threw  at  an  enemy  a  look  quite  so  dis- 
concerting. He  had  laughed  at  the  Deputy's  fear  to  move 
with  fifty  dragoons  to  back  him.  There  was  some  excuse 
for  it.  Back  of  those  piercing  points  of  steel-blue  light 
were  one  hundred  and  fifty  armed  followers.  What  would 
happen  if  he  should  turn  to  these  men  and  tell  them  to  fight 
the  cavalry  of  the  United  States  ?  It  was  an  open  question. 

The  old  man  walked  toward  his  men  with  wiry,  spring- 
ing step. 

The  prisoners  were  released. 

Stuart  shook  hands  with  Pate,  who  was  a  Virginian  and 
a  former  student  of  the  University. 

Brown's  men  laid  down  their  arms  and  dispersed. 

True  to  Stuart's  surmise  he  did  not  move  far  from  his 
entrenched  camp.  He  anticipated  a  fake  surrender  to  the 
troops.  He  had  concealed  weapons  for  the  faithful  but 
half  a  mile  away.  With  Weiner  he  built  a  new  camp  fire 
before  Stuart's  cavalry  had  moved  two  miles. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  man  with  the  slouched  hat  and  coarse  cotton 
shirt  lost  no  time  in  grieving  over  the  dispersal  of 
his  one  hundred  and  fifty  men.    It  was  the  largest 
force  he  had  ever  assembled.    His  experience  in  the  three 
days  in  which  he  had  acted  as  their  commander  had  greatly 
angered  him.    The  frontiersman  who  failed  to  come  under 
the  spell  of  Brown's  personality  by  direct  contact  gener- 
ally refused  to  obey  his  orders. 

The  crowd  of  free  rangers  which  his  fight  with  Pate 
had  gathered  proved  themselves  beyond  control.  They 
raided  the  surrounding  country  without  Brown's  knowl- 
edge. 

They  stole  from  friend  and  foe  with  equal  impartiality. 
There  was  one  consolation  in  his  surrender  to  the  United 
States  troops.  He  got  rid  of  these  troublesome  follow- 
ers. They  had  already  robbed  him  of  the  spoils  of  his 
own  successful  raids  and  not  one  of  them  had  shown  any 
inclination  to  bring  5n  the  enemies'  goods  for  common 
use. 

He  began  to  choose  the  most  faithful  among  them  for 
a  scheme  of  wider  scope  and  more  tragic  daring.  He  was 
not  yet  sure  of  his  plan.  But  God  would  reveal  it  clearly. 

He  spent  a  week  at  his  new  camp  in  the  woods  wander- 
ing alone,  dreaming,  praying,  weighing  this  new  scheme 
from  every  point  of  view. 

203 


204 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

His  mind  came  back  again  and  again  to  the  puzzle  of 
the  failure  to  raise  a  National  Blood  Feud. 

For  a  moment  his  indomitable  Puritan  soul  was  dis- 
couraged. He  had  obeyed  the  command  of  his  God.  He 
could  not  have  been  mistaken  in  the  voice  which  spoke 
from  Heaven: 

"WITHOUT  THE  SHEDDING  OP  BLOOD  THERE  is  NO  RE- 
MISSION OF  SINS." 

He  had  laid  the  Blood  Offering  on  God's  altar  counting 
his  own  life  as  of  no  account  in  the  reckoning  and  from 
that  hour  he  had  been  a  fugitive  from  justice,  hiding  in 
the  woods.  He  had  escaped  arrest  only  by  the  accidental 
assembling  of  a  mob  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  disorderly 
fools  who  had  stolen  his  own  goods  before  they  had  been 
dispersed. 

Instead  of  the  heroic  acclaim  to  which  the  deed  entitled 
him,  his  own  flesh  and  blood  had  cursed  him,  one  of  his 
sons  had  been  shot  and  another  was  lying  in  prison  a 
jibbering  lunatic. 

Would  future  generations  agree  with  the  men  who  had 
met  in  his  own  town  and  denounced  his  deed  as  cruel,  grue- 
some and  revolting? 

His  stolid  mind  refused  to  believe  it.  Through  hours 
of  agonizing  prayer  the  new  plan,  based  squarely  on  the 
vision  that  sent  him  to  Pottawattomie,  began  to  fix  itself 
in  his  soul. 

This  time  he  would  chose  his  disciples  from  the  elect. 
Only  men  tried  in  the  fires  of  Action  could  be  trusted.  Of 
five  men  he  was  sure.  His  son,  Owen,  he  knew  could  be  de- 
pended on  without  the  shadow  of  turning.  Yet  Oliver 
was  the  second  disciple  chosen.  He  had  forgiven  the  boy 
for  the  fight  over  the  pistol  and  had  taken  pains  to  regain 
his  complete  submission.  John  Henry  Kagi  was  the  third 
chosen  disciple,  a  young  newspaper  reporter  of  excellent 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  205 

mind  and  trained  pen.  He  had  been  captured  by  United 
States  troops  in  Kansas  as  a  guerilla  raider  and  was  im- 
prisoned first  at  Lecompton  and  then  at  Tecumseh.  The 
fourth  disciple  selected  was  Aaron  Dwight  Stevens,  an 
ex-convict  from  the  penitentiary  at  Fort  Leavenworth. 
Stevens  was  by  far  the  most  daring  and  interesting  figure 
in  the  group.  His  knowledge  of  military  tactics  was  des- 
tined to  make  him  an  invaluable  aide.  The  uncanny  in 
Brown's  spirit  had  appealed  to  his  imagination  from  the 
day  he  made  his  escape  from  the  penitentiary  and  met  the 
old  man.  The  fifth  disciple  chosen  was  John  E.  Cook,  a 
man  destined  to  play  the  most  important  role  in  the  new 
divine  mission  with  the  poorest  qualification  for  the  task. 
Born  of  a  well-to-do  family  in  Haddon,  Connecticut,  he 
had  studied  law  in  Brooklyn  and  New  York.  He  dropped 
his  studies  against  the  protest  of  his  people  in  1855,  and, 
driven  by  the  spirit  of  adventure,  found  his  way  into  Kan- 
sas and  at  last  led  his  band  of  twenty  guerillas  into  John 
Brown's  camp.  Brown's  attention  was  riveted  on  him  from 
the  day  they  met.  He  was  a  man  of  pleasing  personality 
and  the  finest  rifle  shot  in  Kansas.  He  was  genial :  he  was 
always  generous ;  he  was  brave  to  the  point  of  recklessness  ; 
and  he  was  impulsive,  indiscreet  and  utterly  reckless  when 
once  bent  on  a  purpose.  His  sister  had  married  Willard, 
the  Governor  of  Indiana. 

Brown's  new  plan  required  a  large  sum  of  money.  With 
the  prestige  his  fighting  in  Kansas  had  given  him,  he  be- 
lieved the  Abolition  philanthropists  of  the  East  would  give 
this  sum.  He  left  his  disciples  to  drill  and  returned  East 
to  get  the  money. 

In  Boston  his  success  was  genuine,  although  the  large 
amount  which  he  asked  was  slow  in  coming. 

The  old  man  succeeded  in  deceiving  his  New  England 
friends  completely  as  to  the  Pottawattomie  murders.  On 


206 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

this  event  he  early  became  a  cheerful,  consistent  and  suc- 
cessful liar.  This  trait  of  his  character  had  been  fully 
developed  in  his  youth.  Everywhere  he  was  acclaimed  by 
the  pious  as,  "Captain  Brown,  the  old  partisan  hero  of 
Kansas  warfare." 

His  magnetic,  uncanny  personality  rarely  failed  to  cap- 
ture the  dreamer  and  the  sentimentalist.  Sanborn,  Howe, 
Theodore  Parker,  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson,  George 
L.  Stearns  and  Gerrit  Smith  became  his  devoted  followers. 
He  even  made  Wendell  Phillips  and  William  Lloyd  Garri- 
son his  friends. 

Garrison  met  him  at  Theodore  Parker's.  The  two  men 
were  one  on  destroying  Slavery:  Garrison,  the  pacifist; 
Brown,  the  man  who  believed  in  bloodshed  as  the  only  pos- 
sible solution  of  all  the  great  issues  of  National  life. 
Brown  quoted  the  Old  Testament ;  Garrison,  the  New. 

He  captured  the  imagination  of  Thoreau  and  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson. 

He  was  raising  funds  for  another  armed  attack  on 
Slavery  in  Kansas.  The  sentimentalists  asked  no  ques- 
tions. And  if  hard-headed  business  men  tried  to  pry  too 
closely  into  his  plans,  they  found  him  a  past  master  in  the 
art  of  keeping  his  own  counsel. 

He  struck  a  snag  when  he  appealed  to  the  National 
Kansas  Committee  for  a  gift  of  rifles  and  an  appropriation 
of  five  thousand  dollars.  They  voted  the  rifles  on  condi- 
tions. But  a  violent  opposition  developed  against  giving 
five  thousand  dollars  to  a  man  about  whose  real  mind  they 
knew  so  little. 

H.  B.  Hurd,  the  Chairman  of  the  Committee,  had  sus- 
pected the  purpose  back  of  his  pretended  scheme  for  oper- 
ations in  Kansas.  He  put  to  Brown  the  pointblank  ques- 
tion and  demanded  a  straight  answer. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  207 

*'If  you  get  these  guns  and  the  money  you  desire,  will 
you  invade  Missouri  or  any  slave  territory?" 

The  old  man's  reply  was  characteristic.  He  spoke  with 
a  quiet  scorn. 

"I  am  no  adventurer.  You  all  know  me.  You  are  ac- 
quainted with  my  history.  You  know  what  I  have  done 
in  Kansas.  I  do  not  expose  my  plans.  No  one  knows 
them  but  myself,  except  perhaps  one.  I  will  not  be  inter- 
rogated.  If  you  wish  to  give  me  anything,  I  want  you  to 
give  it  freely.  I  have  no  other  purpose  but  to  serve  the 
cause  of  Liberty." 

His  answer  was  not  illuminating.  It  contained  nothing 
the  Committee  wished  to  know.  The  statement  that  they 
knew  him  was  a  figure  of  speech.  They  had  read  partisan 
reports  of  his  fighting  and  his  suffering  in  Kansas — 
through  his  own  letters,  principally.  How  much  truth 
these  letters  contained  was  something  they  wished  very 
much  to  find  out.  He  had  given  no  light. 

He  declared  that  they  knew  what  he  had  done  in  Kan- 
sas. This  was  the  one  point  on  which  they  needed  most 
light. 

The  biggest  event  in  the  history  of  Kansas  was  the  deed 
on  the  Pottawattomie.  In  the  fierce  political  campaign 
that  was  in  progress  its  effects  had  been  neutralized  by 
denials.  Brown  had  denied  his  guilt  on  every  occasion. 

Yet  as  they  studied  his  strange  personality  more  than 
one  member  of  the  Committee  began  to  suspect  him  as  the 
only  man  in  the  West  capable  of  the  act. 

The  Committee  refused  to  vote  the  rifles  and  com- 
promised on  the  money  by  making  a  qualification  that 
would  make  the  gift  of  no  service.  They  voted  the  ap- 
propriation, "in  aid  of  Captain  John  Brown  in  any  defen- 
sive measures  that  may  become  necessary."  He  was 


208 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

authorized  to  draw  five  hundred  dollars  when  he  needed 
it  for  this  purpose. 

The  failure  rankled  in  the  old  man's  heart  and  he  once 
more  poured  out  the  vials  of  his  wrath  on  all  politicians, — 
North  and  South. 

For  months  he  became  an  incessant  and  restless  wan- 
derer throughout  New  York  and  the  New  England  States. 

He  finally  issued  a  general  appeal  for  help  through  the 
New  York  Tribune  and  other  friendly  papers. 

The  contributions  came  slowly.  The  invitations  to 
speak  came  slower.  At  Collinsville,  Connecticut,  however, 
after  his  lecture  he  placed  with  Charles  Blair,  a  black- 
smith and  forge-master,  an  important  secret  order  for  a 
thousand  iron  pikes.  Blair  pledged  his  loyalty.  He  re- 
ceived his  first  payment  on  account,  for  a  stand  of  weapons 
destined  to  become  souvenirs  in  marking  the  progress  of 
civilization  in  the  new  world. 

In  the  midst  of  his  disappointing  canvas  for  funds  he 
received  a  letter  from  his  son,  Jason,  that  a  Deputy  United 
States  Marshal  had  passed  through  Cleveland  on  the  way 
East  with  a  warrant  for  his  arrest  for  the  Pottawattomie 
murders. 

On  the  receipt  of  this  news  he  wrote  his  friend,  Eli 
Thayer: 

"One  of  the  U.  S.  hounds  is  on  my  track:  and  I  have 
kept  myself  hid  for  a  few  days  to  let  my  track  get  cold. 
I  have  no  idea  of  being  taken:  and  intend  (if  God  will)  to 
go  back  with  Irons  in  rather  than  upon  my  hands.  I  got 
a  fine  lift  in  Boston  the  other  day;  and  hope  Worcester 
will  not  be  entirely  behind.  I  do  not  mean  you;  or  Mr. 
Allen  <§•  Company  " 

So  dangerous  was  the  advent  of  the  U.   S.  Marshal 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 209 

from  Kansas  that  Brown  took  refuge  in  an  upper  room 
in  the  house  of  Judge  Russell  in  Boston  and  remained  in 
hiding  an  entire  week.  Mrs.  Russell  acted  as  maid  and 
allowed  no  one  to  open  the  front  door  except  herself  dur- 
ing the  time  of  his  stay. 

The  Judge's  house  was  on  a  quiet  street  and  his  con- 
nection with  the  Abolition  movement  had  been  kept  secret 
for  political  reasons.  His  services  to  their  cause  were  in 
this  way  made  doubly  valuable. 

Brown  daily  barricaded  his  door  and  told  his  hostess 
that  he  would  not  be  taken  alive.  He  added  with  the 
nearest  approach  to  a  smile  ever  seen  on  his  face: 

"I  should  hate  to  spoil  your  carpet,  Madame." 

While  in  hiding  at  Judge  Russell's  he  composed  a  sar- 
castic farewell  to  New  England.  It  is  in  his  best  style  and 
true  character  as  a  poseur: 

"Old  Brown's  Farewell:  to  the  Plymouth  Rock;  Bunker 
Hill  Monument ;  Charter  Oaks ;  and  Uncle  Tom's  Cabins. 

"Has  left  for  Kansas.  Was  trying  since  he  came  out 
of  the  Territory  to  secure  an  outfit;  or,  in  other  words, 
the  means  of  arming  and  equipping  thoroughly,  his  regu- 
lar minute  men,  who  are  mixed  up  with  the  People  of 
Kansas:  and  he  leaves  the  States,  with  a  deep  feeling  of 
sadness:  that  anfcr  exhausting  his  own  small  means:  and 
with  his  family  and  his  brave  men:  suffered  hunger,  naked- 
ness, cold,  sickness,  (and  some  of  them)  imprisonment, 
with  most  barbarous  and  cruel  treatment:  wounds  and 
death:  that  after  laying  on  the  ground  for  months;  in 
the  most  unwholesome  and  sickly  as  well  as  uncomfortable 
places:  with  sick  and  wounded  destitute  of  any  shelter 
part  of  the  time ;  dependent  in  part  on  the  care,  and  hos- 
pitality of  the  Indians :  and  hunted  like  Wolves :  that  after 
all  this;  in  order  to  sustain  a  cause,  which  every  Citizen 


210 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

of  this  Glorious  Republic,  is  under  equal  moral  obligation 
to  do:  (and  for  the  neglect  of  which  HE  WILL  be  held 
accountable  TO  GOD:)  in  which  every  Man,  Woman  and 
Child  of  the  human  family;  has  a  deep  and  awful  interest; 
and  that  no  wages  are  asked  or  expected:  he  cannot  secure 
(amidst  all  the  wealth,  luxury  and  extravagance  of  this 
' Heaven  exalted9  people)  even  the  necessary  supplies  for 
a  common  soldier.  HOW  ARE  THE  MIGHTY 
FALLEN? 

"JOHN  BROWN." 

Following  his  usual  tactics  of  interminable  delays  anii 
restless,  aimless  wandering,  it  was  the  7th  of  August  be- 
fore he  reached  Tabor,  Iowa,  the  appointed  rendezvous  of 
his  disciples. 

Two  days  after  his  arrival  the  Free  State  election  of 
the  ninth  of  August  was  held  in  Kansas  and  the  heavy 
vote  polled  was  a  complete  triumph  of  the  men  of  peace 
within  the  party.  Kansas,  in  his  absence,  had  settled 
down  to  the  tried  American  plan  of  the  ballot  box  for  the 
decision  of  political  disputes. 

Brown  wrote  Stearns  a  despairing  letter.  He  was  dis- 
couraged and  utterly  without  funds.  He  begged  for  five 
hundred  to  one  thousand  dollars  immediately  for  secret 
service  and  no  questions  asked.  He  promised  interesting 
times  in  Kansas  if  he  could  secure  this  money. 

Of  his  disciples  for  the  great  coming  deed  but  one  had 
arrived  at  Tabor,  his  faithful  son  Owen.  The  old  man 
lingered  at  Tabor  with  his  religious  friends  until  Novem- 
ber before  starting  for  Kansas. 

Higginson,  his  chief  backer  in  Massachusetts,  was  grow- 
ing angry  over  his  repeated  delays  and  senseless  inaction. 
Sanborn,  always  Brown's  staunch  defender,  wrote  Higgin- 
son a  letter  begging  patience : 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 211 

"You  do  not  understand  Brown's  circumstances.  He 
is  as  ready  for  revolution  as  any  other  man,  and  is  now 
on  the  border  of  Kansas  safe  from  arrest,  prepared  for 
action.  But  he  needs  money  for  his  present  expenses  and 
active  support. 

"I  believe  that  he  is  the  best  Dis-union  champion  you 
can  find,  and  with  his  hundred  men,  when  he  is  put  where 
he  can  raise  them  and  drill  them  (for  he  has  an  expert 
drill  officer  with  him)  WILL  DO  MORE  TO  SPLIT  THE 
UNION  than  a  list  of  50,000  names  for  your  Convention, 
good  as  that  is. 

"What  I  am  trying  to  hint  at  is  that  the  friends  of 
Kansas  are  looking  with  strange  apathy  at  a  movement 
which  has  all  the  elements  of  fitness  and  success — a  good 
plan,  a  tried  leader,  and  a  radical  purpose.  If  you  can  do 
anything  for  it  now,  in  God's  name  do  it — and  the  ill 
results  of  the  new  policy  in  Kansas  may  be  prevented." 

The  new  policy  in  Kansas  must  be  smashed  at  all  haz- 
ards, of  course.  To  the  men  who  believed  in  bloodshed  as 
the  only  rational  way  to  settle  political  issues,  the  ballot 
box  and  the  council  table  were  the  inventions  of  the  Devil. 
It  was  the  duty  of  the  children  of  Light  to  send  the  Lord's 
Anointed  with  the  Sword  of  Gideon  to  raise  anew  the 
Blood  Feud. 

It  is  evident  from  this  letter  of  F.  B.  Sanborn  to  Hig- 
ginson  that  even  Sanborn  had  not  penetrated  the  veil  of 
the  old  Puritan's  soul.  The  one  to  whom  he  had  revealed 
his  true  plan  was  his  faithful  son  in  Kansas.  The  Terri- 
tory was  not  the  objective  of  this  mission.  It  was  only 
a  feint  to  deceive  friend  and  foe. 

And  he  succeeded  in  doing  it. 

That  his  purpose  was  the  disruption  of  the  Union  in  a 
deluge  of  blood,  Sanborn,  of  course,  understood  and  ap- 


212 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


proved.  He  was  utterly  mistaken  as  to  the  time  and  place 
and  method  which  the  Man  of  Visions  had  chosen  for  the 
(deed. 

On  entering  the  Territory,  now  as  peaceful  as  any  State 
in  the  Union,  Brown  gathered  his  disciples,  Oliver,  Kagi, 
Stevens,  and  Cook  and  despatched  them  to  Tabor,  Iowa. 
Here  they  were  informed  for  the  first  time  of  the  real  pur- 
pose of  their  organization — the  invasion  of  Virginia  and 
the  raising  of  a  servile  insurrection  in  which  her  soil  would 
be  drenched  in  blood  within  sight  of  the  Capitol  at  Wash- 
ington. With  Stevens,  as  drill  master,  they  began  the 
study  of  military  tactics.  They  moved  to  Springdale  and 
established  their  camp  for  the  winter. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

SUDDENLY  the  old  man  left  Springdale.  He  or- 
dered his  disciples  to  continue  their  drill  until  he 
should  instruct  them  as  to  their  next  march. 

Two  weeks  later  he  was  in  Rochester,  New  York,  with 
Frederick  Douglas.  In  a  room  in  this  negro's  house 
Brown  composed  a  remarkable  document  as  a  substitute 
for  the  Declaration  of  Independence  and  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States. 

He  hurried  with  his  finished  manuscript  to  the  home  of 
Gerrit  Smith  at  Peterboro  for  a  consultation  with  Smith, 
Sanborn,  Higginson  and  Stearns. 

Only  Sanborn  and  Smith  appeared.  Brown  outlined  to 
them  in  brief  his  plan  of  precipitating  a  conflict  by  the 
invasion  of  the  Black  Belt  of  the  South  and  the  establish- 
ment of  a  negro  empire.  Its  details  were  as  yet  locked  in 
his  own  breast. 

Smith  and  Sanborn  discussed  his  plans  and  his  Consti- 
tution for  the  Government  of  the  new  power.  In  spite  of 
its  absurdities  they  agreed  to  support  him  in  the  venture. 
Smith  gave  the  first  contribution  which  enabled  him  to  call 
the  convention  of  negroes  and  radicals  at  Chatham,  Can- 
ada, to  adopt  the  "Constitution." 

Brown  went  all  the  way  to  Springdale,  Iowa,  to  escort 
the  entire  body  of  his  disciples  to  this  convention.  And 
they  came  across  a  continent  with  him — Stevens,  Kagi, 
Cook,  Owen  Brown,  and  six  new  men  whom  he  had  added — 
Leeman,  Tidd,  Gill,  Taylor,  Parsons,  Moffit  and  Realf. 

213 


214 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Thirty-four  negroes  gathered  with  them.  Among  the  ne- 
groes were  Richard  O.  P.  Anderson  and  James  H.  Harris 
of  North  Carolina. 

The  presiding  officer  was  William  C.  Monroe,  pastor  of 
a  negro  church  in  Detroit.  Kagi,  the  stenographer,  was 
made  Secretary  of  the  Convention. 

Brown  addressed  the  gathering  in  an  unique  speech: 

"For  thirty  years,  my  friends,  a  single  passion  has  pur- 
sued my  soul — to  set  at  liberty  the  slaves  of  the  South. 
I  went  to  Europe  in  1851  to  inspect  fortifications  and 
study  the  methods  of  guerilla  warfare  which  have  been 
successfully  used  in  the  old  world.  I  have  pondered  the 
uprisings  of  the  slaves  of  Rome,  the  deeds  of  Spartacus> 
the  successes  of  Schamyl,  the  Circassian  Chief,  of  Touis- 
sant  L'Overture  in  Haiti,  of  the  negro  Nat  Turner  who  cut 
the  throats  of  sixty  Virginians  in  a  single  night  in  1831. 

"I  have  developed  a  plan  of  my  own  to  sweep  the  South. 
You  must  trust  me  with  its  details.  I  shall  depend  on  the 
blacks  for  the  body  of  my  soldiers.  And  I  expect  every 
freedman  in  the  North  to  flock  to  my  standard  when  the 
blow  has  fallen.  I  know  that  every  slave  in  the  South  will 
answer  my  call.  The  slaveholders  we  will  not  massacre 
unless  we  must.  We  will  hold  them  as  hostages  for  our 
protection  and  the  protection  of  any  prisoners  who  may 
fall  into  their  hands." 

The  men  listened  in  rapt  attention  and  when  he  read  his 
"Constitution  and  Preamble,"  it  was  unanimously  adopted. 

The  Constitution  which  they  adopted  was  a  piece  of  in- 
sanity in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word,  a  confused  medley 
of  absurd,  inapplicable  forms. 

The  Preamble,  however,  which  contained  the  keynote  of 
Brown's  philosophy  of  life,  was  expressed  in  clear-cut, 
logical  ideas. 

He  read  it  in  a  cold,  vibrant  voice : 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 215 

"Whereas,  Slavery,  throughout  its  entire  existence  in 
the  United  States  is  none  other  than  a  most  barbarous, 
unprovoked  and  unjustifiable  war  of  one  portion  of  its 
citizens  upon  another  portion :  the  only  conditions  of  which 
are  perpetual  imprisonment,  and  hopeless  servitude  or  ab- 
solute extermination,  in  utter  disregard  and  violation  of 
those  eternal  and  self-evident  truths  set  forth  in  our 
Declaration  of  Independence:  Therefore,  we  CITIZENS  OF 
the  UNITED  STATES,  and  the  OPPRESSED  PEOPLE  who  by  a 

RECENT  DECISION  of  the  SUPREME   COURT  ARE  DECLARED  to 

have  NO  RIGHTS  WHICH  the  WHITE  MAN  is  BOUND  to  RE- 
SPECT ;  TOGETHER   WITH  ALL  OTHER   PEOPLE  DEGRADED  by 

the  LAWS  THEREOF,  DO,  for  the  TIME  BEING  ORDAIN  andi 

ESTABLISH     for     OURSELVES,     the     FOLLOWING     PROVISIONAL 

CONSTITUTION  and  ORDINANCES  the  BETTER  to  protect,  our 

PERSONS,   PROPERTY,   LIVES   and   LIBERTIES:   and  to    GOVERN 

our  ACTION." 

The  first  result  of  his  Radical  Convention  was  the  ex- 
haustion of  his  treasury.  He  had  used  his  last  dollar  to 
bring  his  men  on  from  the  West  and  no  money  had  been 
collected  to  pay  even  their  return  fares. 

They  were  compelled  to  go  to  work  at  various  trades 
to  earn  their  bread.  Brown  determined  to  return  to  Kan- 
sas and  create  a  sensation  that  would  again  stir  the  East 
and  bring  the  money  into  his  treasury.  He  would  at  the 
same  time  test  the  first  principle  of  his  plan  by  an  actual 
raid  into  a  neighboring  Southern  State.  In  the  meantime, 
he  issued  his  first  order  of  the  Great  Deed.  He  selected 
John  E.  Cook  as  his  scout  and  spy  and  dispatched  him  to 
Harper's  Ferry,  Virginia,  to  map  its  roads,  study  its  peo- 
ple and  reconnoiter  the  surrounding  territory. 

He  raised  the  money  to  pay  Cook's  fare  and  saw  him 
on  the  train  for  Virginia  before  he  started  for  Kansas  to 
spring  his  second  national  sensation. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BROWN'S  scout  reached  the  town  of  Harper's  Ferry 
on  June  5,  1858.  The  magnificent  view  which 
greeted  his  vision  as  he  stepped  from  the  train  took 
his  breath.  The  music  of  trembling  waters  seemed  a  grand 
accompaniment  to  an  Oratorio  of  Nature. 

The  sensitive  mind  of  the  young  Westerner  responded 
to  its  soul  appeal.  He  stood  for  half  an  hour  enraptured 
with  its  grandeur.  Two  great  rivers,  the  Potomac  and 
the  Shenandoah,  rushing  through  rock-hewn  gorges  to 
the  sea,  unite  here  to  hurl  their  tons  of  foaming  waters 
against  the  last  granite  wall  of  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains. 

Beyond  the  gorge,  through  which  the  roaring  tide  has 
cut  its  path,  lies  the  City  of  Washington  on  the  banks 
of  the  Potomac,  but  sixty  miles  away — a  day's  journey 
on  a  swift  horse :  an  hour  and  a  half  by  rail. 

Cook  at  first  had  sharply  criticized  Brown's  selection  of 
such  a  place  for  the  scene  of  the  Great  Deed.  As  he  stood 
surveying  in  wonder  the  sublimity  of  its  scenery  he  mut- 
tered softly: 

"The  old  man's  a  wizard!" 

The  rugged  hills  and  the  rush  of  mighty  waters  called 
the  soul  to  great  deeds.  There  was  something  electric  in 
the  air.  The  town,  the  rivers,  the  mountains  summoned 
the  spirit  to  adventure.  The  tall  chimneys  of  the  United 
States  Arsenal  and  Rifle  Works  called  to  war.  The  lines 

216 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 217 

of  hills  were  made  for  the  emplacement  of  guns.  The  roar- 
ing waters  challenged  the  skill  of  generals. 

The  scout  felt  his  heart  beat  in  quick  response.  The 
more  he  studied  the  hills  that  led  to  High  Knob,  a  peak 
two  thousand  four  hundred  feet  in  height,  the  more  canny 
seemed  the  choice  of  Brown.  From  the  top  of  this  peak 
stretches  the  county  of  Fauquier,  the  beginning  of  the  Black 
Belt  of  the  South.  Fauquier  County  contained  more  than 
ten  thousand  Slaves  and  seven  hundred  freed  negroes. 
There  were  but  nine  thousand  eight  hundred  whites.  From 
this  county  to  the  sea  lay  a  series  of  adjoining  counties  in 
which  the  blacks  outnumbered  the  whites.  These  counties 
contained  more  than  two  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  ne- 
groes. 

The  Black  Belt  of  Virginia  touched  the  Black  Belts  of 
North  Carolina,  South  Carolina  and  Georgia — an  un- 
broken stretch  of  overwhelming  black  majority.  In  some 
counties  they  outnumbered  the  whites,  five  to  one. 

This  mountain  gorge,  hewn  out  of  the  rocks  by  the 
waters  of  the  rivers,  was  the  gateway  into  the  heart  of 
the  Slave  System  of  the  South.  And  it  could  be  made  the 
highroad  of  escape  to  the  North  if  once  the  way  were 
opened. 

Another  fact  had  influenced  the  mind  of  Brown.  The 
majority  of  the  workmen  of  Harper's  Ferry  were  mechan- 
ics from  the  North.  They  would  not  be  enthusiastic  de- 
fenders of  Slavery.  They  were  not  slave  owners.  In  a 
fight  to  a  finish  they  would  be  indifferent.  Their  indiffer- 
ence would  make  the  conquest  of  the  few  white  masters 
in  town  a  simple  matter. 

Cook  felt  again  the  spell  of  Brown's  imperious  will. 
He  had  thought  the  old  man's  chief  reason  for  selecting 
Harper's  Ferry  as  the  scene  was  his  quixotic  desire  to  be 
dramatic.  He  knew  the  history  of  the  village.  It  had  been 


218 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

named  for  Robert  Harper,  an  Englishman.  Lord  Fair- 
fax, the  friend  of  George  Washington,  had  given  the  mill- 
wright a  grant  of  it  in  1748.  Washington,  himself,  had 
made  the  first  survey  of  the  place  and  selected  the  Ferry, 
in  1794,  as  the  site  of  a  National  Armory. 

Colonel  Lewis  Washington,  the  great-grandson  of 
Washington's  brother,  lived  on  the  lordly  plantation  of 
Bellair,  four  miles  in  the  country.  Brown  had  learned 
that  the  sword  which  Frederick  the  Great  had  given  to 
Washington,  and  the  pistols  which  Lafayette  had  given 
him  hung  on  the  walls  of  the  Colonel's  library. 

He  had  instructed  Cook  to  become  acquainted  with 
Colonel  Washington,  and  locate  these  treasures.  He  had 
determined  to  lead  his  negro  army  of  insurrection  with 
these  pistols  and  sword  buckled  around  his  waist. 

Cook  was  an  adventurer  but  he  had  no  trace  of  eccen- 
tricity in  his  character.  He  thought  this  idea  a  dangerous 
absurdity.  And  he  believed  at  first  that  it  was  the  one 
thing  that  had  led  his  Chief  to  select  this  spot.  He 
changed  his  mind  in  the  first  thirty  minutes,  as  he  stood 
studying  the  mountain  peak  that  stood  sentinel  at  the 
gateway  of  the  Black  Belt. 

With  a  new  sense  of  the  importance  of  his  mission  he 
sought  a  boarding  house.  He  was  directed  by  the  watch- 
man at  the  railroad  station,  a  good-looking  freedman,  an 
employee  of  the  Mayor  of  the  town,  to  the  widow  Ken- 
nedy's. Her  house  was  situated  on  a  quiet  street  just 
outside  the  enclosure  of  the  United  States  Arsenal. 

Cook  was  a  man  of  pleasing  address,  twenty-eight  years 
old,  blue-eyed,  blond,  handsome,  affable,  genial  in  manner 
and  a  good  mixer.  Within  twenty-four  hours  he  had  made 
friends  with  the  widow  and  every  boarder  in  the  house. 

They  introduced  him  to  their  friends  and  in  a  week  he 
had  won  the  good  opinion  of  the  leading  citizens  of  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 219 

place.  A  few  days  later  the  widow's  pretty  daughter  ar- 
rived from  boarding  school  and  the  young  adventurer 
faced  the  first  problem  of  his  mission. 

She  was  a  slender,  dark-eyed,  sensitive  creature  of 
eighteen.  Shy,  romantic,  and  all  eyes  for  the  great  ad- 
venture of  every  Southern  girl's  life — the  coming  of  the 
Prince  Charming  who  would  some  day  ride  up  to  her  door, 
doff  his  plumed  hat,  kiss  her  hand  and  kneel  at  her  feet  \ 

Cook  read  the  eagerness  in  her  brown  eyes  the  first  hour 
of  their  meeting.  And  what  was  more  serious  he  felt  the 
first  throb  of  emotion  that  had  ever  distressed  him  in  the 
presence  of  a  woman. 

He  had  never  made  love.  He  had  tried  all  other  adven- 
tures. He  had  never  met  the  type  that  appealed  to  his 
impulsive  mind.  He  was  angry  with  himself  for  the  almost 
resistless  impulse  that  came,  to  flirt  with  this  girl. 

It  could  only  be  a  flirtation  at  best  and  it  could  only 
end  in  bitterness  and  hatred  and  tragedy  in  the  end.  He 
had  done  dark  deeds  on  the  Western  plains.  But  they 
were  man  deeds.  No  delicate  woman  had  been  involved 
in  their  tangled  ethics. 

There  was  something  serious  in  his  nature  that  said  no 
to  a  flirtation  of  any  kind  with  a  lovely  girl.  He  had  al- 
ways intended  to  take  women  seriously.  He  did  take 
them  seriously.  He  wouldn't  hesitate  to  kill  a  man  if  he 
were  cornered.  But  a  woman — that  was  different.  He 
tried  to  avoid  the  eyes  of  Virginia.  He  couldn't.  In  spite 
of  all,  seated  opposite  at  the  table,  he  found  himself  look- 
ing into  their  brown  liquid  depths.  They  were  big,  soulful 
eyes,  full  of  tenderness  and  faith  and  wonder  and  joy. 
And  they  kept  saying  to  him : 

"Come  here,  stranger  man,  and  tell  me  who  you  are, 
where  you  came  from,  where  you're  going,  and  what's  your 
hurry." 


220 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

There  was  nothing  immodest  or  forward  in  them.  They 
just  kept  calling  him. 

She  was  exactly  the  type  of  girl  he  had  dreamed  he 
would  like  to  marry  some  day  when  life  had  quieted  down. 
She  was  of  the  spirit,  not  the  flesh.  Yet  she  was  beautiful 
to  look  upon.  Her  hair  was  a  dark,  curling  brown,  full  of 
delicate  waves  even  on  the  top  of  her  head.  Her  hands 
were  dainty.  Her  body  was  a  slender  poem  in  willowy, 
graceful  lines.  Her  voice  was  the  softest  Southern  drawl. 

The  Kennedys  were  not  slave  holders.  The  pretty 
daughter  joyfully  helped  her  mother  when  she  came  home 
from  school.  Her  sentiments  were  Southern  without  the 
over  emphasis  sometimes  heard  among  the  prouder  daugh- 
ters of  the  old  regime.  These  Southern  sentiments  formed 
another  impassable  barrier.  Cook  said  this  a  hundred 
times  to  himself  and  sought  to  make  the  barrier  more 
formidable  by  repeating  aloud  his  own  creed  when  in  his 
room  alone. 

The  fight  was  vain.  He  drifted  into  seeing  her  a  few 
minutes  alone  each  day.  She  had  liked  him  from  the  first. 
He  felt  it.  He  knew  it.  He  had  liked  her  from  the  first, 
and  she  knew  it. 

Each  night  he  swore  he'd  go  to  bed  without  seeing  her 
and  each  night  he  laughed  and  said: 

"Just  this  once  more  and  it  won't  count." 

He  felt  himself  drifting  into  a  tragedy.  Yet  to  save 
his  life  he  couldn't  lay  hold  of  anything  that  would  stand 
the  strain  of  the  sweet  invitation  in  those  brown  eyes. 

To  avoid  her  he  spent  days  tramping  over  the  hills. 
And  always  he  came  back  more  charmed  than  ever.  The 
spell  she  was  weaving  about  his  heart  was  resistless. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BROWN  returned  to  Kansas  with  Stevens  and  Kagi, 
his  two  bravest  and  most  intelligent  disciples. 

If  he  could  make  the  tryout  of  his  plan  suffi- 
ciently sensational,  his  prestige  would  be  restored,  his 
chief  disciples  become  trained  veterans  and  his  treasury 
be  filled. 

When  he  arrived,  the  Free  State  forces  had  again  com- 
pletely triumphed  at  the  ballot  box.  They  had  swept  the 
Territory  by  a  majority  of  three  to  one  in  the  final  test 
vote  on  the  new  Constitution.  The  issue  of  Slavery  in 
Kansas  was  dead.  It  had  been  settled  for  all  time. 

Such  an  inglorious  end  for  all  his  dreams  of  bloodshed 
did  not  depress  the  man  of  visions.  Kansas  no  longer  in- 
terested him  except  as  a  rehearsal  ground  for  the  coming 
drama  of  the  Great  Deed. 

He  had  carefully  grown  a  long  gray  beard  for  the  make- 
up of  his  new  role.  It  completely  changed  his  appearance. 
He  not  only  changed  his  make-up,  but  he  also  changed 
his  name.  The  title  he  gave  to  the  new  character  which 
he  had  come  to  play  was,  "Shubel  Morgan." 

The  revelation  of  his  identity  would  be  all  the  more  dra- 
matic when  it  came. 

When  his  men  and  weapons  had  been  selected,  he  built 
his  camp  fire  on  the  Missouri  Border.  His  raid  was  care- 

221 


222 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

fully  planned  in  consultation  with  Stevens,  Kagi  and 
Tidd.  With  these  trusted  followers  he  had  rallied  a  dozen 
recruits  who  could  be  depended  on  to  obey  orders.  Among 
them  was  a  notorious  horse  thief  and  bandit  known  in  the 
Territory  by  the  title  of  "Pickles." 

As  they  entered  the  State  of  Missouri  on  the  night  of 
the  twenty-fifth  of  January,  Brown  divided  his  forces. 
Keeping  the  main  division  under  his  personal  command, 
he  despatched  Stevens  with  a  smaller  force  to  raid  the 
territory  surrounding  the  two  plantations  against  which 
he  was  moving. 

Between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  Brown  reached  the 
home  of  Harvey  G.  Hicklin,  the  first  victim  marked  on  his 
list. 

Without  the  formality  of  a  knock  he  smashed  his  door 
down  and  sprang  inside  with  drawn  revolver. 

Hicklin  surrendered. 

"We  have  come  to  take  your  slaves  and  such  property 
as  we  need,"  the  old  man  curtly  answered. 

"I  am  at  your  mercy,  gentlemen,"  Hicklin  replied. 

Gill  was  placed  in  charge  of  the  robbers  who  ransacked 
the  bureau  drawers,  closets  and  chests  for  valuables. 

Brown  collected  the  slaves  and  assured  them  of  pro- 
tection. When  every  watch,  gun,  pistol,  and  every  piece 
of  plate  worth  carrying  had  been  collected,  and  the  stables 
stripped  of  every  horse  and  piece  of  leather,  the  old  man 
turned  to  his  victim  and  coolly  remarked: 

"Now  get  your  property  back  if  you  can.  I  dare  you 
and  the  whole  United  States  Army  to  follow  me  to-night. 
And  you  tell  this  to  your  neighbors  to-morrow  morning." 

Hicklin  kept  silent. 

Brown  knew  that  his  tongue  would  be  busy  with  the 
rising  sun.  He  also  knew  that  his  message  would  be  hot 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 223 

on  the  wires  to  the  East  before  the  sun  would  set.  He 
could  feel  the  thrill  it  would  give  his  sentimental  friends 
in  Boston.  And  he  could  see  them  reaching  for  their 
purses. 

The  men  were  still  emptying  drawers  on  the  floor  in  a 
vain  search  for  cash.  Hicklin  never  kept  cash  over  night 
in  his  house.  He  lived  too  near  the  border. 

Brown  called  his  men  from  their  looting  and  ordered 
them  to  the  next  house  which  he  had  marked  for  assault — 
the  house  of  James  Lane,  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away. 

They  smashed  Lane's  door  and  took  him  a  prisoner 
with  Dr.  Erwin,  a  guest  of  the  family. 

From  Hicklin  he  had  secured  considerable  booty  and 
his  men  were  keen  for  richer  spoils.  The  first  attack  had 
netted  the  raiders  two  fine  horses,  a  yoke  of  oxen,  a  wagon, 
harness,  saddles,  watches,  a  fine  collection  of  jewelry, 
bacon,  flour,  meal,  coffee,  sugar,  bedding,  clothing,  a 
shotgun,  boots,  shoes,  an  overcoat  and  many  odds  and 
ends  dumped  into  the  wagon. 

From  Lane  they  expected  more.  They  were  sore  over 
the  results.  They  got  six  good  horses,  their  harness  and 
wagons,  a  lot  of  bedding,  clothing  and  provisions,  but  no 
jewelry  except  two  plain  silver  watches. 

Brown  added  five  negroes  to  his  party  and  told  them 
he  would  take  them  to  Canada.  Thus  far  no  blood  had 
been  shed.  The  attacks  had  been  made  with  such  quiet 
skill,  the  surprise  was  complete.  In  spite  of  all  the  talk 
and  bluster  of  frontier  politicians  no  sane  man  in  the 
State  of  Missouri  could  conceive  of  the  possibility  of  such 
a  daring  crime.  The  victims  were  utterly  unprepared  for 
the  assault.  And  no  defense  had  been  attempted. 

Stevens  had  better  luck.  His  party  had  encountered 
David  Cruise,  a  man  who  was  rash  enough  to  resist.  He 
was  an  old  man,  too,  of  quiet,  peaceable  habits  and  exem- 


224 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

plary  character.  He  proved  to  be  the  man  who  didn't 
know  how  to  submit  to  personal  insult. 

He  owned  but  one  slave  who  did  the  cooking  for  his 
family.  When  Stevens  broke  into  his  house  and  demanded 
the  woman,  he  indignantly  refused  to  surrender  his  cook 
to  a  gang  of  burglars. 

The  ex-convict,  who  had  served  his  term  for  an  assault 
with  intent  to  kill,  didn't  pause  to  ask  Cruise  any  ques- 
tions. 

His  revolver  clicked,  a  single  shot  rang  out  and  the  old 
man  dropped  on  the  floor  with  a  bullet  through  his  heart. 

Passing  the  body,  Stevens  looted  the  house.  He  made 
the  largest  haul  of  the  night.  He  secured  four  oxen, 
eleven  mules,  two  horses,  and  a  wagon  load  of  provisions. 
Incidental!}''  he  picked  up  a  valuable  mule  from  a  neighbor 
of  Cruise  as  they  passed  his  house  on  the  way  to  join 
Brown. 

When  Stevens  reported  the  murder  and  gave  the  in- 
ventory of  the  valuable  goods  stolen,  "Shubel  Morgan" 
stroked  his  long  gray  beard  and  spoke  but  one  word : 

"Good." 

In  his  grim  soul  he  knew  that  the  blood  stain  left  on 
Cruise's  floor  would  be  worth  more  to  his  cause  than  all 
the  stolen  jewelry,  horses  and  wagons.  Its  appeal  to  the 
East  would  be  the  one  secret  force  needed  to  rouse  the 
archaic  instincts  of  his  pious  backers.  They  would  deny 
with  indignation  the  accusation  of  murder  against  his 
men.  They  would  invent  the  excuse  of  self-defense.  He 
did  not  need  to  make  it.  From  the  deeps  of  their  souls 
would  come  the  shout  of  the  ancient  head-hunter  return- 
ing with  the  bloody  scalp  of  a  foe  in  his  hand.  Brown 
felt  this.  He  knew  it,  because  he  felt  it  in  his  own  heart. 
He  was  a  Puritan  of  Puritans. 

With  deliberate  daring  the  caravan  moved  back  into 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  225 


the  Territory.  For  the  moment  the  audacity  of  the  crime 
stunned  the  frontier.  He  had  figured  on  this  hour  of  un- 
certainty and  amazement  to  make  good  his  escape.  He 
knew  that  he  could  depend  on  the  people  along  the  way  to 
Iowa  to  protect  the  ten  slaves  which  he  had  brought  out 
of  Missouri. 

The  press  of  Kansas  unanimously  condemned  the  out- 
rage. Brown  knew  they  would.  He  could  spit  in  their 
faces  now.  He  was  done  with  Kansas.  His  caravan  was 
moving  toward  the  North ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  hills 
of  Virginia. 

His  experiment  had  been  a  success. 

The  President  of  the  United  States,  James  Buchanan, 
offered  a  reward  of  $250  for  his  arrest.  The  Governor 
of  Missouri  raised  the  reward  to  $3,000.  The  press 
flashed  the  news  of  the  daring  rescue  of  ten  slaves  by  old 
John  Brown.  He  regained  in  a  day  his  lost  prestige.  The 
stories  of  the  robberies  which  accompanied  the  rescue 
were  denied  as  Border  Ruffian  lies,  as  "Shubel  Morgan" 
knew  they  would  be  denied. 

His  enterprise  had  met  every  test.  He  got  his  slaves 
safely  through  to  Canada  and  started  a  reign  of  terror. 
The  effect  of  the  raid  into  a  Slave  State  had  tested  his 
theory  of  direct,  bloodstained  action  as  the  solution  and 
the  only  solution  of  the  problem. 

The  occasional  frowns  of  pious  people  on  his  methods 
caused  him  no  uneasiness  or  doubt.  He  was  a  man  of  daily 
prayer.  He  was  on  more  intimate  terms  with  God  than 
his  critics. 

The  one  fly  in  the  ointment  of  his  triumph  was  the  cold 
reception  given  him  by  the  religious  settlement  at  Tabor, 
Iowa.  These  good  people  had  treated  him  as  a  prophet 
of  God  in  times  past  and  his  caravan  had  headed  for 
Tabor  as  their  first  resting  place. 


226 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

He  entered  the  village  with  a  song  of  triumph.  He 
would  exhibit  his  freed  slaves  before  the  Church  and  join 
with  the  congregation  in  a  hymn  of  praise  to  God. 

But  the  news  of  his  coming  had  reached  Tabor  before 
his  arrival.  They  had  heard  of  the  stealing  of  the  oxen, 
the  horses,  the  mules,  the  wagons. 

They  had  also  heard  of  the  murder  of  David  Cruise. 
Brown  had  denied  the  Pottawattomie  crimes  and  they  had 
believed  him.  This  murder  he  could  not  deny.  They  had 
not  yet  reached  the  point  of  justifying  murder  in  an  un- 
lawful rescue.  These  pious  folks  also  had  a  decided  preju- 
dice against  a  horse  thief,  however  religious  his  training 
and  eloquent  his  prayers. 

When  his  caravan  of  stolen  wagons,  horses  and  pro- 
visions, moved  slowly  into  the  village,  a  curious  but  cold 
crowd  gazed  in  silence.  He  placed  the  negroes  in  the  little 
school  house  and  parked  his  teams  on  the  Common. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday  and  the  old  Puritan  hastened 
to  church  with  his  faithful  disciples.  Amazed  that  he  had 
received  from  the  Rev.  John  Todd  no  invitation  to  take 
part  in  the  services,  he  handed  Stevens  a  scribbled  note: 

"Give  it  to  the  preacher  when  he  comes  in." 

Stevens  gave  the  minister  the  bit  of  paper  without  a 
word  and  resumed  his  seat  in  the  House  of  God. 

The  Rev.  John  Todd  read  the  scrawl  with  a  frown : 

"John  Brown  respectfully  requests  the  church  at  Tabor 
to  offer  public  thanksgiving  to  Almighty  God  in  behalf  of 
himself  and  company:  and  of  their  rescued  captives,  in 
particular,  for  His  gracious  preservation  of  their  lives  and 
health:  and  His  signal  deliverance  of  all  out  of  the  hands 
of  the  wicked.  'Oh,  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord ;  for  He  is 
good :  for  His  mercy  endureth  forever.' ' 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 227 

The  Rev.  Dr.  King  was  in  the  pulpit  with  the  militant 
preacher  Todd  that  day  and  the  perplexed  man  handed  the 
note  to  King. 

The  two  servants  of  Christ  were  not  impressed  with  the 
appeal.  The  words  Brown  had  marked  in  italics  and  his 
use  of  the  Psalms  failed  to  rouse  the  religious  fervor  of 
the  preachers.  They  knew  that  somewhere  in  the  crowd 
sat  the  man  who  had  murdered  Cruise  and  stolen  those 
horses.  They  also  knew  that  John  Brown  had  approved 
the  deeds  of  his  followers. 

Todd  rose  and  announced  that  he  had  received  a  peti- 
tion which  he  could  not  grant.  He  announced  a  public 
meeting  of  the  citizens  of  the  town  in  the  church  the  fol- 
lowing day  to  take  such  action  as  they  might  see  fit. 

When  Brown  faced  this  meeting  on  Monday  he  felt  its 
hostility  from  the  moment  he  rose.  He  made  an  excuse 
for  not  speaking  by  refusing  to  go  on  when  a  distinguished 
physician  from  Missouri  entered  the  church. 

Brown  demanded  that  the  man  from  Missouri  be  ex- 
pelled. The  citizens  of  Tabor  refused.  And  the  old  man 
sullenly  took  his  seat. 

Stevens,  the  murderer,  sprang  to  his  feet  and  in  his 
superb  bass  voice  shouted : 

"So  help  me,  God,  I'll  not  sit  in  council  with  one  who 
buys  and  sells  human  flesh." 

Stevens  led  the  disciples  out  of  the  church. 

At  the  close  of  the  discussion  the  citizens  of  Tabor 
unanimously  adopted  the  resolution: 

"Resolved,  That  while  we  sympathize  with  the  op- 
pressed and  will  do  all  that  we  conscientiously  can  to  help 
them  in  their  efforts  for  freedom,  nevertheless  we  have  no 
sympathy  with  those  who  go  to  slave  states  to  entice  away 


228 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

slaves  and  take  property  or  life,  when  necessary,  to  attain 
this  end. 

"J.  SMITH, 
"Sec.  of  Meeting." 
Tabor,  Feb.  7,  1857. 

John  Brown  shook  the  ilust  of  Tabor  from  his  feet  after 
a  long  prayer  to  his  God  which  he  took  pains  to  make 
himself. 

At  Grinnell,  Iowa,  his  reception  was  cordial  and  he 
began  to  feel  the  confidence  which  his  exploit  would  excite 
in  the  still  more  remote  East.  His  caravan  had  moved 
Eastward  but  fourteen  days'  journey  from  Tabor  and 
he  had  been  received  with  open  arms.  The  farther  from 
the  scene  of  action  Brown  moved,  the  more  heroic  his 
rugged  patriarchal  figure  with  its  flowing  beard  loomed. 

On  reaching  Boston  his  triumph  was  complete.  Every 
doubt  and  fear  had  vanished.  Sanborn,  Higginson, 
Stearns,  Howe,  and  Gerrit  Smith,  in  a  short  time,  secured 
for  him  more  than  four  thousand  dollars  and  the  Great 
Deed  was  assured. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

WHILE  Brown  was  at  work  in  the  North  collecting 
money,  arms  and  ammunition,  Cook  was  quietly 
completing  his  work  at  the  Ferry.     He  fought  the 
temptation  to  take  Virginia  with  him  on  his  trips  and  then 
succumbed. 

The  thing  that  decided  it  was  the  fact  that  she  knew 
Colonel  Louis  Washington  and  had  been  to  Bellair.  She 
promised  to  introduce  him. 

To  make  sure  of  Brown's  quixotic  instructions  about 
the  sword  and  pistols  he  must  make  the  trip.  The  drive 
in  the  snug  little  buggy  along  the  river  bank  was  a  red 
letter  experience  in  the  young  Westerner's  life. 

Seated  beside  the  modest  slip  of  a  Southern  girl  chat- 
ting with  vivacity  and  a  happiness  she  couldn't  conceal, 
the  man  forgot  that  he  was  a  conspirator  in  a  plot  to 
deluge  a  nation  in  blood.  He  forgot  the  long  nights  of 
hiding  in  woods  and  ravines.  He  forgot  dark  deeds  of 
sacking  and  robbery.  He  was  just  a  boy  again.  The  sun 
was  shining  in  the  glory  of  a  sweet  spring  morning  in  the 
mountains.  The  flowers  were  blooming  in  the  hedges.  He 
smelled  the  wild  cherrv,  blackberry  and  dewberry  bushes. 
Birds  were  singing.  The  new  green  of  the  leaves  was  daz- 
zling in  its  splendor.  The  air  was  pure  and  sweet  and 
sent  the  blood  bounding  to  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

229 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


He  glanced  at  the  soft  red  cheeks  of  the  girl  beside  him 
and  a  great  yearning  for  a  home  and  babies  and  peace 
overwhelmed  him.  His  lips  trembled  and  his  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  He  rebelled  against  the  task  to  which  he  had 
put  Jiis  hand. 

"Why  so  pensive?"  she  asked  with  a  laugh. 

«Am  I?" 

"You  haven't  spoken  for  a  mile." 

"I'm  just  so  happy,  I  reckon,"  he  answered  seriously. 

He  remembered  his  grim  task  and  threw  off  the  spell. 
He  must  keep  a  cool  head  and  a  strong  hand.  He  remem- 
bered the  strange  old  man  to  whose  "Constitution"  he  had 
sworn  allegiance  in  Canada  and  began  to  talk  in  common- 
places. 

To  the  girl's  romantic  ears  they  had  meaning.  Every 
tone  of  his  voice  fascinated  her.  The  mystery  about  him 
held  her  imagination.  She  was  sure  it  was  full  of  thrilling 
adventure.  He  would  tell  her  some  day.  She  wondered 
why  he  had  waited  so  long.  He  had  been  on  the  point  of 
telling  his  love  again  and  again  and  always  stopped  with 
an  ugly  frown.  She  wondered  sometimes  if  his  life  had 
been  spoiled  by  some  tragedy.  A  thousand  times  she  asked 
herself  the  question  whether  he  might  be  married  and  sepa- 
rated from  a  wife.  He  had  lived  in  the  North.  He  had 
told  her  many  places  he  had  seen.  People  were  divorced 
sometimes  in  the  North.  She  dismissed  the  thought  as 
absurd  and  resigned  herself  again  to  the  charms  of  his 
companionship. 

Colonel  Washington  was  delighted  to  see  again  the 
(daughter  of  an  old  friend.  Her  father  had  been  his  con> 
panion  on  many  a  hunting  and  fishing  trip. 

Virginia  introduced  her  companion. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  John  Cook,  Colonel  Washington." 

The  colonel  extended  his  hand  cordially. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 231 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  young  man.  A  friend  of  Virginia's 
is  a  friend  of  mine,  sir." 

"Thank  you." 

"Walk  right  in,  children,  sit  down  and  make  yourselves 
at  home.  I'll  find  that  damned  old  lazy  butler  of  mine 
and  get  you  some  refreshments." 

"Let's  sit  outside,"  Virginia  whispered. 

"No,"  Cook  protested.  "I  want  to  see  the  inside  of  a 
Washington  home." 

The  Colonel  waved  his  arm  toward  the  house. 

"With  you  in  a  minute,  children.    Walk  right  in." 

"Of  course,  if  you  wish  it,"  the  girl  said  softly. 

They  entered  the  fine  old  house,  and  sat  down  in  the 
hall.  Cook  smiled  at  the  easy  fulfillment  of  his  task.  Di- 
rectly in  front  of  the  door,  set  in  a  deep  panel,  was  the 
portrait  of  the  first  President.  On  the  right  in  a  smaller 
panel  hung  the  sword  which  Frederick  the  Great  had  given 
him.  On  the  other  side,  the  pistols  from  the  hands  of 
Lafayette.  A  tiny,  gold  plate,  delicately  engraved,  marked 
each  treasure. 

Virginia  showed  him  these  souvenirs  of  her  country's 
history.  She  spoke  of  them  with  breathless  awe.  She 
laughed  with  girlish  pride. 

"Aren't  they  just  grand?" 

Cook  nodded. 

He  felt  guilty  of  treachery.  A  betrayal  of  Southern 
hospitality  in  this  sweet  girl's  presence!  He  ground  his 
teeth  at  the  thought  of  his  weakness  the  next  moment. 

Colonel  Washington  appeared  through  the  door  from 
the  dining  room.  He  was  followed  by  his  ancient  butler, 
bearing  a  tray  filled  with  drinks. 

The  Colonel  served  them  with  his  own  hand.  The  negro 
grinned  his  welcome  to  the  guests.  At  the  sight  of  a  slave, 
Cook  was  himself  again.  His  jaw  closed  and  his  eye 


232 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

flashed.  He  was  once  more  the  disciple  of  the  Man  of  the 
Blood-Feud. 

Washington  handed  a  tall  glass  to  Virginia. 

"Your  lemonade,  young  lady.  I  know  your  taste  and 
approve." 

He  bowed  low  and  gave  her  the  drink. 

He  took  two  glasses  of  mint  juleps,  one  in  each  hand. 

"Mr.  Cook,  the  favorite  drink  of  these  mountains,  sir, 
as  pure  as  its  dews,  as  refreshing  as  its  air — the  favorite 
iirink  of  old  Virginia.  To  your  good  health,  sir !" 

Cook's  head  barely  moved  and  he  drank  in  silence. 

He  held  his  mood  of  reserve  on  the  drive  home.  In  vain 
the  girl  smiled  and  coaxed  his  dreary  spirits.  He  refused 
to  respond.  They  passed  the  same  wonderful  views,  the 
same  birds  were  singing,  the  same  waters  foaming  and 
laughing  over  the  rocks  below.  The  man  heard  nothing, 
saw  nothing,  save  a  vision  inside  his  raging  soul.  He  saw 
men  riding  through  the  night  to  that  house.  He  saw  black 
hands  grip  iron  pikes  and  knock  at  the  door  of  its  great 
hall. 

There  was  a  far-away  look  in  his  keen  eyes — eyes  that 
could  sight  a  rifle  with  deadly  aim. 

The  slender  girl  nestled  closer  in  wonder  at  the  veil  that 
had  suddenly  dropped  between  them.  The  fires  of  youth 
and  passion  responded  for  a  moment  to  this  instinctive  stir 
of  his  mate.  Resistance  was  agony.  His  arm  moved  to 
encircle  her  waist.  He  turned  in  an  impulse  to  kiss  her 
lips  and  whisper  the  mad  things  his  heart  was  saying. 

He  caught  himself  in  time. 

What  had  he  to  do  with  this  eternal  call  of  the  human 
heart  to  love  and  be  loved?  It  meant  home,  it  meant  ten- 
derness. It  meant  peace  and  good  will  to  every  living 
thing.  He  had  come  to  kill,  not  to  love ;  to  destroy,  not 
build  homes. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 233 

Again  he  rebelled  against  his  hideous  task.  And  then 
he  remembered  John  Brown  and  all  for  which  he  stood. 
His  oath  crashed  through  his  memory.  He  resolved  to 
put  every  thought  of  tenderness,  beauty,  and  love  under 
his  feet  and  trample  them.  It  was  the  only  way  to  save 
himself  and  this  girl. 

It  would  be  hard — but  he  would  do  it.  For  an  entire 
week  he  did  not  speak  to  her  except  in  monosyllables.  He 
made  no  effort  to  hide  his  decision.  He  wanted  her  to  see 
and  know  the  firm  purpose  within  his  heart. 

Her  eyes  followed  him  with  a  look  of  dumb  anguish.  If 
she  had  spoken  in  reproaches  he  would  have  fought  and 
withstood  her.  Her  silence  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 

On  the  sixth  day  of  his  resolution  he  saw  that  she  had 
been  crying.  She  smiled  and  tried  to  hide  it,  but  he  knew. 
He  would  go  for  a  walk  to  the  Heights  and  cheer  her  up 
a  bit.  It  wasn't  necessary  to  be  brutal. 

Her  brown  eyes  began  to  smile  again.  They  walked 
over  the  Heights  and  down  a  steep  pathway  among  the 
rocks  to  the  river's  edge  and  sat  down  on  a  boulder  worn 
smooth  by  the  waters  of  the  spring  floods. 

The  ripple  of  the  current  made  soft  music.  They  were 
silent  for  a  long  time  and  then  she  turned  toward  him  a 
tender,  questioning  gaze.  In  spite  of  her  effort  to  be 
strong  a  tear  stole  down  the  firm  young  cheek. 

"What  have  I  done  to  make  you  angry?" 

"Nothing,"  he  answered  in  a  whisper. 

"What's  the  matter,  then?" 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  in  a  cruel  grip  before  he 
spoke.  His  words  came  at  last  in  passionate  pleading. 

"Oh,  dear  little  girl,  can't  you  see  how  I've  been  fighting 
this  thing  for  months — how  I've  tried  to  keep  away  from 
you  and  couldn't?" 

"Whv?" 


234 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

She  breathed  the  question  leaning  so  close  that  her  lips 
framed  a  kiss. 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said. 

"But  you  must !    You  must !"  she  pleaded. 

Tears  were  in  his  eyes  now.     He  looked  away. 

"A  gulf  separates  us,  child." 

"How  can  it?"  she  whispered  tenderly. 

"It's  just  there !" 

"Can't  you  cross  it?'* 

"No." 

She  drew  her  slender  body  erect  with  an  effort.  She 
tried  to  speak  twice  before  she  succeeded. 

"You — are — married — then  ?" 

"Oh — no — no — not  that — no !" 

She  bent  close  again,  a  sweet  smile  breaking  through 
her  tears. 

"Then  you  can  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"I  couldn't  tell  it,  even  to  my  wife." 

Her  brow  contracted  in  a  puzzled  look. 

"It's  nothing  low  or  dishonorable?" 

"No.  And  it  belongs  to  the  big  things  of  life — and 
death." 

"And  I  cannot  know  this  secret?" 

"You  cannot  know.     I  have  taken  an  oath." 

"And  it  separates  us?" 

"Yes." 

"But  why — if — you — love — me — and  I  love — you — " 

She  paused  and  blushed  scarlet.  She  had  told  a  man 
her  love  before  he  had  spoken.  But  he  had  spoken !  His 
voice,  his  tears,  his  tones  had  told  her. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  trembling.  He  spoke  one 
word  at  a  time  as  if  he  had  no  breath  to  finish  the  sen- 
tence. 

"It's — sweet — to — hear — your — dear — lips — say — that 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 235 

— you — love — me — God  knows  I  love  you — you-dear-lit- 
tle-angel-sent-f rom  heaven !  I'm  not  worthy  to  touch  your 
hand  and  yet  I'm  crushing  it — I  can't  help  it — I  can't — I 
can't." 

She  slipped  into  his  arms  and  he  crushed  her  to  his 
heart. 

"I  love  you,"  she  whispered.  "I  can  trust  you.  I'll 
never  ask  your  secret  until  you  wish  to*  tell  me.  Just  love 
me,  forever.  That's  all  I  ask." 

"I  can  do  that,  and  I  will!"  he  answered  solemnly. 

They  were  married  the  next  night  in  the  parsonage  of 
the  Methodist  Church  of  which  she  was  a  member.  And 
the  foundation  was  laid  for  a  tragedy  involving  more  lives 
than  one. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

FROM  an  old  log  farmhouse  on  the  hills  of  Mary- 
land,— overlooking,  the  town  of  Harper's  Ferry, 
the  panther  was  crouching  to  spring. 

For  four  months  in  various  disguises  Brown  had 
reconnoitered  the  mountains  around  the  gorge  of  the  two 
rivers.  He  had  climbed  the  peak  and  looked  into  the 
county  of  Fauquier  with  its  swarming  slave  population. 
Each  week  he  piloted  his  wagon  to  the  town  of  Chambers- 
burg,  Pennsylvania,  thirty-five  miles  back  in  the  hills. 

The  Humanitarians  through  their  agents  were  shipping 
there,  day  by  day,  the  powder,  lead,  guns,  knives,  torches 
and  iron  pikes  the  Chosen  One  had  asked. 

These  pious  men  met  him  for  a  final  conference  in  the 
home  of  Gerrit  Smith,  the  preacher  philanthropist  of 
Peterboro. 

The  canny  old  huntsman  revealed  to  them  just  enough 
to  excite  the  unconscious  archaic  impulse  beneath  the  skin 
of  culture.  He  told  them  that  he  was  going  to  make  a 
daring  raid  into  the  heart  of  the  Old  South  and  rescue  as 
many  of  the  "oppressed"  as  possible.  They  knew  that  the 
raid  into  Missouri  had  resulted  in  murder  and  that  he  rode 
back  into  Kansas  with  the  red  stains  on  his  hands. 

Brown  gained  their  support  by  this  carefully  concealed 
appeal  to  their  subconscious  natures.  As  the  crowd  of 

236 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 237 

eager  faces  bent  close  to  catch  the  details  of  his  scheme, 
the  burning  eyes  of  the  leader  were  suddenly  half  closed. 
Silence  followed  and  they  watched  the  two  pin  points  of 
light  in  vain. 

Each  pious  man  present  caught  the  smell  of  human 
blood.  Yet  each  pious  man  carefully  concealed  this  from 
himself  and  his  neighbor  until  it  would  be  approved  by  all. 
Had  the  bald  facts  behind  the  enterprise  been  told  in  plain 
English,  religion  and  culture  would  have  called  a  halt. 
The  elemental  impulse  of  the  Beast  must  therefore  be  care- 
fully concealed. 

Every  man  present  knew  that  they  were  sending  Brown 
on  a  man-hunt.  They  knew  that  the  results  might  mean 
bloodshed.  They  knew,  as  individuals,  exactly  what  was 
being  said  and  what  was  being  planned.  Its  details  they 
did  not  wish  to  know.  The  moral  significance — the  big 
moral  significance  of  the  deed  was  something  apart  from 
the  bloody  details.  The  Great  Deed  could  be  justified  by 
the  Higher  Law,  the  Greater  Glory  of  God.  They  were 
twisting  the  moral  universe  into  accord  with  the  elemental 
impulse  of  the  brute  that  sleeps  beneath  every  human 
skin. 

The  Great  Deed  about  to  be  done  would  be  glorious,  its 
actors  heroes  and  martyrs  of  a  Divine  Cause.  They  knelt 
in  prayer  and  their  Chosen  Leader  invoked  the  blessings 
of  the  Lord  of  Hosts  upon  them  and  upon  his  disciples  in 
the  Divine  Cause. 

The  hour  of  Action  was  now  swiftly  approaching.  Cook 
had  become  a  book  agent.  With  his  pretty  Virginia  wife 
his  figure  became  familiar  to  every  farm  in  the  county. 
He  visited  every  house  where  a  slave  was  to  be  found.  He 
sold  maps  as  well  as  books.  He  also  sketched  maps  in 
secret  when  he  reached  the  quiet  of  his  home  while  his 
happy  little  bride  sang  at  her  work. 


238 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

He  carefully  compiled  a  census  of  slaves  at  the  Ferry 
and  in  the  surrounding  country.  So  sure  had  he  become 
of  the  success  of  the  blow  when  it  should  fall,  that  he 
begged  his  Chief  to  permit  him  to  begin  to  whisper  the 
promise  of  the  uprising  to  a  few  chosen  men  among  the 
slaves. 

The  old  man's  eyes-  flamed  with  anger. 

"You  have  not  done  this  already  ?"  he  growled. 

«No— no." 

"You  swear  it?" 

Brown  had  seized  Cook  by  both  arms  and  searched  his 
eyes  for  the  truth.  The  younger  man  was  amazed  at  the 
volcanic  outburst  of  anger. 

"A  hundred  times  I've  told  you,  Cook,  that  you  talk 
too  much,"  he  went  on  tensely.  "You  mean  well,  boy,  but 
your  marriage  may  prove  a  tragedy  in  more  ways  than 
one." 

"It  has  proven  my  greatest  weapon." 

"If  you're  careful,  if  you're  discreet,  if  you  can  control 
your  foolish  impulses.  I've  warned  you  again  and  again 
and  yet  you've  been  writing  letters — " 

Cook's  eyes  wavered. 

"I  only  wrote  one  to  an  old  girl  friend  in  Tabor." 

"Exactly.  You  told  of  your  marriage,  your  happiness, 
your  hopes  of  a  great  career — and  I  got  a  copy  of  the 
letter." 

"How?" 

"No  matter.  If  I  got  it,  somebody  else  could  get  one. 
Now  will  you  swear  to  me  again  to  obey  my  orders?" 

The  burning  eyes  pierced  his  soul  and  he  was  wax. 

"Yes.     I  swear!" 

"Good.  I  want  a  report  from  you  daily  from  now  on. 
Stop  your  excursions  into  the  country,  except  to  meet  me 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 239 

in  broad  daylight  in  the  woods  this  side  of  our  headquar- 
ters. You  understand?" 

"Yes.     You  can  depend  on  me." 

Brown  watched  him  with  grave  misgivings.  He  was 
the  one  man  on  whom  he  depended  least  and  yet  his  life 
and  the  life  of  every  one  in  his  enterprise  was  in  his  hands. 
There  were  more  reasons  than  one  why  he  must  hasten  the 
final  preparations  for  the)  Deed. 

The  suspicions  of  the  neighbors  had  been  roused  in  spite 
of  the  utmost  vigilance.  He  had  increased  his-  disciples 
to  twenty  men.  He  had  induced  his  younger  son,  Watson, 
to  leave  North  Elba  and  join  them.  His  own  daughter, 
Annie,  and  Oliver's  wife  had  come  with  Watson,  and  the 
two  women  were  doing  the  work  for  his  band — cooking, 
washing,  and  scrubbing  without  a  murmur. 

The  men  were  becoming  restless  in  their  close  confine- 
ment. Five  of  them  were  negroes.  Brown's  disciples  made 
no  objections  to  living,  eating  and  sleeping  with  these 
blacks.  Such  equality  was  one  of  the  cardinal  principles 
of  their  creed. 

But  the  danger  of  the  discovery  of  the  presence  of  freed 
negroes  living  in  this  farmhouse  with  two  white  women  and 
a  group  of  white  men  increased  each  day. 

The  headquarters  had  a  garrulous  old  woman  for  a 
neighbor.  Gradually,  Mrs.  Huffmeister  became  curious 
about  the  doings  at  the  farm.  She  began  to  invent  daily 
excuses  for  a  visit.  They  might  be  real,  of  course,  but 
the  old  man's  daughter  became  uneasy.  As  she  cleaned 
the  table,  washed  the  dishes  and  swept  the  floors  of  the 
rooms  and  the  porch,  she  was  constantly  on  the  lookout 
for  this  woman. 

The  thing  that  had  fascinated  her  was  the  man  whom 
this  girl  called  father.  His  name  was  "Smith,"  but  it 
didn't  seem  to  fit  him.  She  was  an  illiterate  German  and 


240 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

knew  nothing  of  the  stirring  events  in  Kansas.  But  her 
eyes  followed  the  head  huntsman  with  fascinated  curi- 
osity. 

At  this  time  his  personal  appearance  was  startling  in 
its  impressive  power,  when  not  on  guard  or  in  disguise. 
His  brilliant  eyes,  his  flowing  white  beard  and  stooped 
shoulders  arrested  attention  instantly  and  held  it.  He 
was  sixty  years  old  by  the  calendar  and  looked  older.  And 
yet  always  the  curious  thing  about  him  was  that  the  im- 
pression of  age  was  on  the  surface.  It  was  given  only 
when  he  was  still.  The  moment  he  moved  in  the  quick, 
wiry,  catlike  way  that  was  his  habit,  age  vanished.  The 
observer  got  the  impression  of  a  wild  beast  crouching  to 
spring. 

It  was  little  wonder  that  Mrs.  Huffmeister  made  excuses 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  figure.  It  was  little  wonder  that 
she  had  begun  to  talk  to  her  friends  about  "Mr.  Smith" 
and  his  curious  ways. 

She  had  talked  to  him  only  once.  She  was  glad  that  he 
didn't  talk  much.  There  was  an  expression  to  his  set  jaw 
and  lips  that  was  repulsive.  Especially  there  was  some- 
thing chill  in  the  tones  of  his  voice.  They  never  suggested 
tenderness  or  love,  or  hope  or  happiness — only  the  im- 
personal ring  of  metal.  The  agile  and  alert  body  of  a  man 
of  his  age  was  an  uncanny  thing,  too.  The  woman's  curi- 
osity was  roused  anew  with  each  glimpse  she  got  of  him 
until  her  coming  at  last  became  a  terror  to  the  daughter. 

She  warned  her  father  and  he  hastened  his  prepara- 
tions. If  the  world  below  once  got  a  hint  of  what  was 
going  on  behind  those  rough  logs  there  would  be  short 
shrift  for  the  men  who  were  stalking  human  game. 

It  became  necessary  for  the  entire  party  of  twenty  men 
to  lie  concealed  in  the  low  attic  room  the  entire  day.  Not 
more  than  two  of  them  could  be  seen  at  one  time. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 241 

The  strange  assortment  of  ex-convicts,  dreamers, 
theorists,  adventurers  and  freed  negroes  were  kept  busy 
by  their  leader  until  the  eve  of  the  Great  Deed.  They 
whittled  into  smooth  shape  the  stout  hickory  handles  for  a 
thousand  iron  pikes,  which  Blair,  the  blacksmith  of  Collins- 
vine,  Connecticut,  had  finally  delivered.  To  these  rude 
weapons  the  fondest  hopes  of  the  head-huntsman  had  been 
pinned  from  the  first.  The  slave  was  not  familiar  with 
the  use  of  firearms.  His  strong,  black  arm  could  thrust 
these  sharp  pieces  of  iron  into  human  breasts  with  deadly 
accuracy.  Brown  saw  that  every  nail  was  securely  set  in 
the  handles. 

Each  day  he  required  the  first  stand  of  rifles  to  be 
burnished  anew.  The  swords  and  knives  were  ground  and 
whetted  until  their  blades  were  perfect. 

There  was  not  work  enough  to  stop  discussion  toward 
the  end.  Cook  had  finally  whispered  to  Tidd  that  the 
leader  intended  to  assault  and  take  the  United  States 
Arsenal  and  Rifle  Works.  Cook's  study  of  law  revealed 
the  fact  that  this  act  would  be  high  treason  against  the 
Republic. 

The  men  had  all  sworn  allegiance  to  Brown  under  his 
Constitution  but  the  rank  and  file  of  the  little  provisional 
army  did  not  understand  that  he  intended  to  attack  the 
National  authority  by  a  direct  assault. 

A  violent  discussion  broke  out  in  the  attack  led  by  Tidd. 
At  the  end  of  the  argument  Tidd  became  so  infuriated  by 
Brown's  imperious  orders  for  submission  to  his  will  that 
he  left  the  place  in  a  rage,  went  down  to  the  Ferry  and 
spent  the  week  with  Cook. 

Brown  tendered  his  resignation  as  Commander  in  Chief. 
There  was  no  other  man  among  them  who  would  dare  to 
lead.  A  frank  discussion  disclosed  this  fact  and  the  dis- 
ciples were  compelled  to  submit.  They  voted  submission 


242 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

and  authorized  Owen  to  put  it  in  writing  which  he  did 
briefly  but  to  the  point : 

Harper's  Ferry,  Aug.  18,  1859. 
DEAR  SIR, 

We  have  all  agreed  to  sustain  your  decisions,  until 
you  have  proved  incompetent,  and  many  of  us  will 
adhere  to  your  decisions  as  long  as  you  will. 
Your  friend, 

OWEN  SMITH. 

The  rebellion  was  suppressed  within  the  ranks  and  the 
leader's  authority  restored.  But  the  task  of  watching  and 
guarding  became  more  and  more  trying  and  dangerous. 

One  of  the  women  remained  on  guard  every  moment  from 
idawn  to  dusk.  When  washing  dishes  she  stood  at  the  end 
of  the  table  where  she  could  see  the  approach  to  the  house. 
The  meals  over,  she  took  her  place  on  the  porch  or  just 
inside  the  door.  Always  she  was  reading  or  sewing.  She 
not  only  had  to  watch  for  foes  from  without,  but  she  was 
also  the  guard  set  over  the  restless  "invisible"  upstairs. 
In  spite  of  her  vigilance,  Hazlett  and  Leeman  would  slip 
off  into  the  woods  and  wander  for  hours.  Hazlett  was  a 
fine-looking  young  fellow,  overflowing  with  good  nature 
and  social  feelings.  The  prison  life  was  appalling  to  him. 
Leeman  was  a  boy  from  Saco,  Maine,  the  youngest  man 
among  the  disciples.  He  smoked  and  drank  occasionally 
and  chafed  under  restraint. 

In  spite  of  the  women's  keen  watch  these  two  fellows 
more  than  once  broke  the  rules  by  slipping  into  Harper's 
Ferry  in  broad  daylight  and  spending  the  time  at  Cook's 
house.  They  loved  to  watch  the  slender,  joyous,  little 
wife  at  her  work.  They  envied  Cook,  and,  while  they 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 248 

watched,  wondered  at  the  strange  spell  that  had  bound 
their  souls  and  bodies  to  the  old  man  crouching  on  the 
hill  to  strike  the  sleeping  village. 

The  reports  of  these  excursions  reached  Brown's  ears 
and  increased  his  uneasiness.  The  thing  that  hastened 
the  date  for  the  Great  Deed  to  its  final  place  on  the  cal- 
endar was  the  fact  that  a  traitor  from  ambush  had  writ- 
ten a  letter  to  the  Secretary  of  War,  John  B.  Floyd,  re- 
vealing the  whole  plot  and  naming  John  Brown  of  Kansas 
as  the  leader. 

The  Secretary  of  War  was  at  the  time  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Virginia  on  a  vacation.  The  idea  of  any  sane 
human  being  organizing  a  secret  association  to  liberate 
the  slaves  of  the  South  by  a  general  insurrection  was  too 
absurd  for  belief — too  puerile  for  attention.  The  letter 
was  tossed  aside. 

If  this  were  not  enough,  his  friend  and  benefactor,  Ger- 
rit  Smith,  had  made  an  unfortunate  speech  before  a  negro 
audience  in  which  he  had  broadly  hinted  of  his  hope  of  an 
early  slave  insurrection. 

It  was  the  last  straw.  He  was  awaiting  recruits  but 
he  dare  not  delay.  He  summoned  his  friend,  Frederick 
Douglas,  from  Rochester  to  meet  him  at  Chambersburg. 
If  he  could  persuade  Douglas  to  take  his  place  by  his  side 
on  the  night  the  blow  would  be  struck,  he  would  need  no 
other  recruits.  Brown  knew  this  negro  to  be  the  foremost 
leader  of  his  race  and  that  the  freedmen  of  the  North 
would  follow  him. 

The  old  man  arranged  through  his  agent  in  Chambers- 
burg  that  the  meeting  should  take  place  in  an  abandoned 
stone  quarry  just  outside  of  town. 

The  watcher  on  the  hill  over  Harper's  Ferry  was  dis- 
guised as  a  fisherman.  His  slouch  hat,  and  also  rod  and 
reel,  rough  clothes,  made  him  a  typical  farmer  fisherman 


244 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

of  the  neighborhood.  He  reached  the  stone  quarry  un- 
challenged. 

With  eager  eloquence  he  begged  for  the  negro's  help. 

Douglas  asked  the  details  of  his  attack. 

Brown  bared  it,  in  all  its  daring.  He  did  not  omit  the 
Armory  or  the  Rifle  Works. 

Douglas  was  shocked. 

With  his  vivid  eloquence  as  a  negro  orator,  he  possessed 
far  more  common  sense  than  the  old  Puritan  before  whom 
he  stood.  He  opposed  his  plea  as  the  acme  of  absurdity. 
The  attack  on  the  Federal  Arsenal  would  be  treason.  It 
would  array  the  whole  Nation  against  him.  It  would  hurl 
the  army  of  the  United  States  with  the  militia  of  Virginia 
on  his  back  in  an  instant. 

Brown  boldly  faced  this  possibility  and  declared  that 
with  it  he  could  still  triumph,  if  once  he  crossed  the  line 
of  Farquier  county  and  thrust  his  pikes  into  the  heart  of 
the  Black  Belt. 

All  day  Saturday  and  half  the  day  on  Sunday  the  argu- 
ment between  the  two  men  continued.  At  noon  on  Sunday 
the  old  man  slipped  his  arm  around  the  negro  and  pressed 
it  close.  His  voice  was  softer  than  Douglas  had  ever 
heard  it  and  it  sent  the  cold  chills  down  his  spine  in  spite 
of  his  firm  determination  never  to  yield. 

"Come  with  me,  Douglas,  for  God's  sake,"  he  begged. 
"I'll  defend  you  with  my  life.  I  want  you  for  a  special 
purpose.  I'll  capture  Harper's  Ferry  in  two  hours. 
They'll  be  asleep.  When  I  cross  the  line  on  the  mountain 
top  and  call  the  ten  thousand  slaves  in  Fauquier  County — 
the  bees  will  swarm,  man!  Can't  you  see  them?  Can't 
you  hear  the  roar  when  I've  placed  these  pikes  in  their 
hands? — 7  want  you  to  hive  them." 

Douglas  hesitated  for  only  a  moment.  His  vivid  imagi- 
nation had  seen  the  flash  of  the  hell-lit  vision  of  the  slave 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 245 

insurrection  and  his  soul  answered  with  a  savage  cry. 
But  he  slipped  from  Brown's  arms,  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
flung  off  the  spell. 

"My  good  friend,"  he  said  at  last,  "you're  walking 
into  a  steel  trap.  You  can't  come  out  alive." 

He  turned  to  Shields  Green,  the  negro  guard  who  was 
now  one  of  the  old  man's  disciples.  Green  had  been  a 
friend  of  Douglas'  in  Rochester.  He  had  introduced  him 
to  the  Crusader.  He  felt  responsible  for  his  life.  He 
had  a  duty  to  perform  to  this  ignorant  black  man  and 
he  did  it,  painful  as  it  was. 

"Green,  you  have  heard  what  I've  just  said  to  my  friend. 
He  has  changed  his  plans  since  you  volunteered.  You 
understand,  now.  You  can  go  with  him  or  come  home  with 
me  to  Rochester.  What  will  you  do?" 

His  answer  was  coolly  deliberate. 

"I  b'lieve  I  go  wid  de  ole  man !" 

With  a  heavy  heart  Brown  saw  Douglas  leave.  It  was 
the  shattering  of  his  most  dramatic  dream  of  the  execu- 
tion of  the  Great  Deed.  When  the  black  bees  should  swarm 
he  had  seen  himself  at  the  head  of  the  dark,  roaring  tide 
of  avengers,  their  pikes  and  rifles  flashing  in  the  Southern 
sun.  Around  his  waist  was  the  sword  of  George  Wash- 
ington and  the  pistols  of  Lafayette.  His  Aide  of  Honor 
would  ride,  this  negro,  once  a  fugitive  slave.  Side  by 
side  they  would  sweep  the  South  with  fire  and  sword. 

On  arrival  at  his  headquarters  on  the  hill  he  learned 
that  a  revival  of  religion  was  going  on  in  the  town  below 
and  he  fixed  Sunday,  the  seventeenth  of  October,  as  the 
day  of  the  Deed.  Harper's  Ferry  would  not  only  be 
asleep  that  night — every  foe  would  be  lulled  in  songs  of 
praise  to  God. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AT  eight  o'clock  on  Sunday  night,  the  sixteenth  of 
October,   1859,  John  Brown  drove  his  one-horse 
wagon  to  the  door  of  the  rude  log  house  in  which 
he  had  hidden  with  his  disciples  for  four  months. 

It  was  a  damp,  chill  evening  of  mid  fall.  Heavy  rain 
clouds  obscured  the  stars  and  not  a  traveler  ventured 
along  the  wind-swept  roads.  From  the  attic  were  loaded 
into  the  wagon  crowbars,  sledge  hammers,  iron  pikes  and 
oil-soaked  faggots. 

The  crowbars  and  sledge  hammers  might  be  used  on 
the  gates  or  doors.  There  could  be  no  doubt  about  the 
use  to  which  the  leader  intended  to  put  the  pikes  and 
torches. 

When  the  wagon  had  been  loaded  the  old  man  summoned 
his  faithful  son,  Owen. 

"Captain  Owen  Brown,"  the  steel  voice  rang,  "you  will 
take  private  Barclay  Coppoc  and  F.  J.  Merriam  and  es- 
tablish a  guard  over  this  house  as  the  headquarters  of 
our  expedition.  Hold  it  at  all  hazards.  You  are  guard- 
ing the  written  records  of  our  work,  the  names  of  associ- 
ates, the  reserves  of  our  arms  and  ammunition.  We  will 
send  you  reinforcements  in  due  time." 

Owen  saluted  his  commander  and  the  two  privates  under 
his  command  took  their  places  beside  him. 

Brown  waved  to  the  eighteen  men  standing  around  the 
wagon. 

246 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 247 

"Get  on  your  arms,  and  to  the  Ferry !" 

They  had  been  ready  for  hours,  eager  for  the  Deed. 
Not  one  among  them  in  his  heart  believed  in  the  wisdom 
of  this  assault,  yet  so  grim  was  the  power  of  Brown's 
mind  over  the  wills  of  his  followers,  there  was  not  a  lag- 
gard among  them. 

Brown  drove  the  wagon  and  led  the  procession  down 
the  pitch-black  road  toward  the  town.  The  men  fell  in 
line  two  abreast  and  slowly  marched  behind  the  team. 

Cook  and  Tidd,  raised  to  the  rank  of  Captains,  their 
commissions  duly  signed,  led  the  tramping  men.  There 
were  many  captains  in  this  remarkable  army  of  twenty- 
one.  There  were  more  officers  than  privates.  The  officers 
were  commissioned  to  recruit  their  black  companies  when 
the  first  blow  had  been  struck. 

The  enterprise  on  which  these  twenty-one  veteran  rang- 
ers had  started  in  the  chill  night  was  by  no  means  so  fool- 
hardy as  appears  on  the  surface.  The  leader  was  leaving 
his  base  of  supplies  with  a  rear  guard  of  but  three  men. 
Yet  the  army  on  the  march  consisted  of  but  eighteen.  He 
knew  that  the  United  States  Arsenal  had  but  one  guarded 
gate  and  that  the  old  watchman  had  not  fired  a  gun  in 
twenty-five  years.  It  would  be  the  simplest  thing  to  force 
this  gate  and  the  Arsenal  was  in  their  hands.  The  Rifle 
Works  had  but  a  single  guard.  They  could  be  taken  in 
five  minutes.  Once  inside  these  enclosures,  he  had  un- 
limited guns  and  ammunition  at  his  command. 

The  town  would  be  asleep  at  ten  o'clock  when  he  ar- 
rived at  the  Maryland  end  of  the  covered  bridge  across 
the  Potomac.  Eighteen  armed  men  were  an  ample  force 
to  capture  the  unsuspecting  town.  Not  a  single  police- 
man was  on  duty  after  ten.  The  people  were  not  in  the 
habit  of  locking  their  doors. 

The  one  principle  of  military  law  which  the  leader  was 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


apparently  violating  was  the  failure  to  provide  a  plan 
of  retreat.  But  retreat  was  the  last  thing  he  intended 
to  face. 

The  one  thing  on  which  he  had  staked  his  life  and  the 
success  of  his  daring  undertaking  was  the  swarming  of 
the  black  bees.  His  theory  was  reasonable  from  the  Abo- 
litionist's point  of  view.  He  believed  that  negro  Chattel 
Slavery  as  practiced  in  the  South  was  the  sum  of  all  vil- 
lainies. And  the  Southern  slave  holders  were  the  arch 
criminals  and  oppressors  of  human  history.  In  his  Pre- 
amble of  the  new  "Constitution"  to  which  his  men  had 
sworn  allegiance,  he  had  described  this  condition  as  one 
of  "perpetual  imprisonment,  and  hopeless  servitude  or 
absolute  extermination."  If  the  negroes  of  the  South  were 
held  in  the  chains  of  such  a  system,  if  they  were  being 
beaten  and  exterminated,  the  "black  bees  would  swarm  at 
the  first  call  of  a.  master  leader  and  deluge  the  soil  in 
blood. 

John  Brown  believed  this  as  he  believed  in  the  God  to 
whom  he  prayed  before  he  loaded  his  pikes  and  torches  on 
the  wagon.  These  black  legions  would  swarm  to-night  ! 
He  could  hear  their  shouts  of  joy  and  revenge  as  they 
gripped  their  pikes  and  swung  into  line  under  his  God  im- 
posed leadership. 

The  whole  scheme  was  based  on  this  faith.  If  Garri- 
son's words  were  true,  if  the  Southern  slave  holder  was  a 
fiend,  if  Mrs.  Stowe's  arraignment  of  Slavery  on  the 
grounds  of  its  inhuman  cruelty  was  a  true  indictment,  his 
faith  was  well  grounded. 

His  thousand  pikes  in  the  hands  of  a  thousand  deter- 
mined blacks  led  by  the  trained  Captains  whom  he  had 
commissioned  was  a  force  adequate  to  hold  the  town  of 
Harper's  Ferry  and  invade  the  Black  Belt  beyond  the 
Peak. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 249 

The  moment  these  black  legions  swarmed  and  weapons 
were  placed  in  their  hands  the  insurrection  would  spread 
with  lightning  rapidity.  The  weapons  were  in  the  Arsenal. 
The  massacres  would  be  sweeping  through  Virginia,  North 
and  South  Carolina  before  an  adequate  force  could  reach 
this  mountain  pass.  And  when  they  reached  it,  he  would 
be  at  the  head  of  a  black,  savage  army  moving  south- 
ward with  resistless  power. 

The  only  question  was  the  swarming  of  this  dark  army. 
Cook,  who  had  spent  nearly  a  year  among  the  people  and 
knew  these  slaves  best,  was  the  one  man  who  held  a  doubt. 
For  this  reason  he  had  begged  Brown  a  second  time  to  let 
him  sound  the  strongest  men  among  the  slaves  and  try 
their  spirit.  Brown  refused.  He  knew  a  negro.  He 
was  simply  a  white  man  in  a  black  skin  by  an  accident  of 
climate.  He  knew  exactly  what  he  would  do  when  put  to 
the  test.  To  discuss  the  subject  was  a  waste  of  words. 

And  so  with  faith  serene  in  the  success  of  the  Deed,  he 
paused  but  a  moment  at  the  entrance  of  the  bridge. 

He  ordered  Captains  Kagi  and  Stevens  to  advance  and 
take  as  prisoner  William  Williams,  the  watchman.  The 
two  rangers  captured  Williams  without  a  struggle. 

"A  good  joke,  boys,"  he  laughed. 

"You'll  find  it  a  good  one  before  the  night's  over," 
Stevens  answered. 

When  he  attempted  to  move,  a  revolver  at  his  breast 
still  failed  to  convince  him. 

"Go  'way,  you  boys,  with  your  foolishness.  It's  a  dark 
night,  but  I'm  used  to  being  scared!" 

It  was  not  until  Kagi  gave  him  a  rap  over  the  head  with 
his  rifle  that  he  sat  down  in  amazement  and  wiped  the 
sweat  from  his  brow.  He  forgot  the  chill  of  the  night 
air.  His  brain  was  suddenly  on  fire. 

Brown  waited  at  the  entrance  of  the  bridge  until  the 


250  THE  MAN  IN  G,. 


watchman  had  been  captured  and  Cook  and  Tidd  had  cut 
the  line  on  the  Maryland  side  of  the  river. 

He  then  advanced  across  the  covered  way  to  the  gate 
of  the  Arsenal  but  a  few  yards  beyond  the  Virginia  en- 
trance. 

He  captured  Daniel  Whelan,  the  watchman  at  the  Ar- 
senal entrance.  Dumbfounded  but  stubborn,  he  refused  to 
betray  his  trust  by  surrendering  the  keys. 

"Open  the  gate!"  Brown  commanded. 

"Tohellwidyez!" 

A  half  dozen  rifles  were  thrust  at  his  head. 

He  folded  his  arms  and  stood  his  ground. 

They  pushed  a  lantern  into  his  face  and  Brown  studied 
him  a  moment.  He  didn't  wish  a  gun  fired  yet.  The  town 
was  asleep  and  he  wanted  it  to  sleep. 

"Get  a  crowbar,"  he  ordered. 

They  got  a  crowbar  from  the  wagon,  jammed  it  into 
the  chain  which  held  the  wagon  gate  and  twisted  the  chain 
until  it  snapped.  He  drove  the  wagon  inside,  closed  the 
gate  and  the  United  States  Arsenal  was  in  his  hands. 

Brown  placed  the  two  watchmen  in  charge  of  his  men, 
Jerry  Anderson  and  Dauphin  Thompson. 

He  spoke  to  the  prisoners  in  sharp  command. 

"Behave  yourselves,  now.  I've  come  here  to  free  all  the 
negroes  in  this  State.  If  I'm  interfered  with  I'll  burn  the 
town  and  have  blood." 

Every  man  who  passed  through  the  dark  streets  was 
accosted,  made  prisoner  and  placed  under  guard. 

Hazlett  and  Edwin  Coppoc  were  ordered  to  hold  the 
Armory.  Oliver  Brown  and  William  Thompson  were  sent 
to  seize  the  Shenandoah  bridge,  the  direct  line  of  march 
into  the  slave-thronged  lower  valley. 

Stevens  was  sent  to  capture  the  Rifle  Works  which  was 
accomplished  in  two  minutes. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 251 

The  program  had  worked  exactly  as  Brown  had  pre- 
dicted. Not  a  shot  had  been  fired  and  they  were  masters 
of  the  town,  its  two  bridges,  the  United  States  Arsenal, 
Armory  and  Rifle  Works. 

The  men  were  now  despatched  through  the  town  for 
the  real  work  of  the  night — the  arming  of  the  black  legion 
with  pikes  and  torches. 

It  was  one  o'clock  before  the  first  accident  happened. 
Patrick  Higgins,  the  second  night  watchman,  came  to  re- 
lieve Williams  on  the  Maryland  bridge. 

Oliver  Brown,  on  guard,  cried: 

"You're  my  prisoner,  sir." 

The  Irishman  grinned. 

"Yez  don't  till  me!" 

Without  another  word  he  struck  Oliver  a  blow.  The 
crack  of  a  rifle  was  the  answer.  In  his  rage  young  Brown 
was  too  quick  with  the  shot.  The  bullet  plowed  a  furrow 
in  Higgins'  skull  but  failed  to  pierce  it. 

He  ran  into  the  shadows. 

Once  inside  the  Wager  House,  he  gave  the  alarm.  The 
train  from  the  West  pulled  into  the  station  and  was  about 
to  start  across  the  bridge  when  Higgins,  his  face  still 
streaked  with  blood,  rushed  up  to  the  conductor  and  told 
him  what  had  happened.  He  went  forward  to  investi- 
gate, was  fired  on  and  backed  his  train  out  to  the  mext 
station. 

As  tHe  train  pulled  out  Shepherd  Haywood,  a  freedman, 
the  baggage  master  of  the  station,  walked  toward  the 
bridge  to  find  the  missing  watchman.  The  raiders  shot 
him  through  the  breast  and  he  fell  mortally  wounded.  The 
first  victim  was  a  faithful  colored  employee  of  Mayor 
Beekham,  the  station  master  of  the  Baltimore  and  Ohio 
Railroad  Company. 

The  shot  that  killed  him  roused  a  man  of  action.    Dr. 


252  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

John  D.  Starry  lived  but  a  stone's  throw  from  the  spot 
where  Haywood  had  fallen.  Hearing  the  shot  and  the 
groans  of  the  wounded  man,  the  doctor  hastened  to  his 
rescue  and  carried  him  into  the  station.  He  could  give 
no  coherent  account  of  what  had  happened  and  was  al- 
ready in  a  dying  condition. 

The  doctor  investigated.  He  approached  two  groups 
of  the  raiders,  was  challenged  and  retreated.  Satisfied 
of  the  seriousness  of  the  attack  when  he  saw  two  armed 
white  men  lead  three  negroes  holding  pikes  in  their  hands 
into  the  Armory  gate,  he  saddled  his  horse  and  rode  to 
his  neighbors  in  town  and  country  and  gave  the  alarm. 

While  this  dangerous  messenger  was  on  his  foam-flecked 
horse,  Brown,  true  to  his  quixotic  sense  of  the  dramatic, 
sent  a  raiding  party  of  picked  men  to  capture  Colonel 
Washington  and  bring  to  his  headquarters  in  the  Arsenal 
the  sword  and  pistols.  On  this  foolish  mission  he  de- 
patched  Captains  Stevens,  Cook  and  Tidd,  with  three 
negro  privates,  Leary,  Anderson  and  Green.  He  gave 
positive  orders  that  Colonel  Washington  should  be  forced 
to  surrender  the  sword  of  the  first  President  into  the  hands 
of  a  negro. 

Day  was  dawning  as  the  strange  procession  on  its  re- 
turn passed  through  the  Armory  gate.  In  his  own  car- 
riage was  seated  Colonel  Washington  and  his  neighbor, 
John  H.  Allstead.  Their  slaves  and  valuables  were  packed 
in  the  stolen  wagons  drawn  by  stolen  horses. 

Brown  stood  rifle  in  hand  to  receive  them. 

"This,"  said  Stevens  to  Washington,  "is  John  Brown." 

"Osawatomie  Brown  of  Kansas,"  the  old  man  added  with 
a  stiffening  of  his  figure. 

He  then  handed  a  pike  to  each  of  the  slaves  captured  at 
Bellair  and  Allstead's : 

"Stand  guard  over  these  white  men." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 253 

The  negroes  took  the  pikes  and  held  them  gingerly. 

At  sunrise  Kagi  sent  an  urgent  message  to  his  Chief 
advising  him  that  the  Rifle  Works  could  not  be  held  in  the 
face  of  an  assault.  He  begged  him  to  retreat  across  the 
Potomac  at  the  earliest  possible  moment. 

Retreat  was  a  word  not  in  the  old  man's  vocabulary. 
He  sent  Leary  to  reenforce  him,  with  orders  to  hold  the 
works. 

He  buckled  the  sword  and  pistols  of  Washington  about 
his  gaunt  waist  and  counted  his  prisoners.  He  had  forty 
whites  within  the  enclosure.  He  counted  the  slaves  whom 
he  had  armed  with  pikes.  He  had  enrolled  under  his  ban- 
ner less  than  fifty.  They  stood  in  huddled  groups  of  won- 
der and  fear. 

The  black  bees  had  failed  to  swarm. 

He  scanned  the  horizon  and  not  a  single  burning  home 
lighted  the  skies.  It  had  begun  to  drizzle  rain.  Not  a 
torch  had  been  used. 

He  had  lost  four  precious  hours  in  his  quixotic  expe- 
dition to  capture  Colonel  Washington,  his  sword  and 
slaves.  He  could  not  believe  this  a  mistake.  God  had 
shown  him  the  dramatic  power  of  the  act.  He  held  a 
Washington  in  his  possession.  He  was  being  guarded  by 
his  own  slaves,  armed.  The  scene  would  make  him  famous. 
It  would  stir  the  millions  of  the  North.  It  would  drive  the 
South  to  desperation. 

The  thing  that  stunned  him  was  the  failure  of  the  black 
legions  to  mobilize  under  the  Captains  whom  he  had  ap- 
pointed to  lead  them. 

It  was  incredible. 

He  paced  the  enclosure,  feverishly  recalling  the  histories 
of  mobs  which  he  had  studied,  especially  the  fury  of  the 
French  populace  when  the  restraints  of  Law  and  Tradi- 
tion had  been  lifted  by  the  tocsin  cf  the  Revolution.  The 


254  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

moment  the  beast  beneath  the  skin  of  religion  and  culture 
was  unchained,  the  massacres  began.  Every  cruelty  known 
to  man  had  been  their  pastime. 

And  these  beasts  were  white  men.  How  much  more 
should  he  expect  of  the  Blacks?  Haiti  had  given  him  as- 
surance of  darker  deeds.  The  world  was  shivering  with 
the  horrors  of  the  Black  uprising  in  Haiti  when  he  was 
born.  He  had  drunk  the  story  from  his  Puritan  mother's 
breast.  From  childhood  he  had  brooded  with  secret  joy 
over  its  bloody  details. 

The  Black  Bees  had  swarmed  there  and  Toussaint 
L'Overture  had  hived  them  as  he  had  asked  Frederick 
Douglas  to  hive  them  here.  They  seized  the  rudest  wea- 
pons and  wiped  out  the  white  population.  They  butchered 
ten  thousand  French  men,  women  and  children.  And  not 
a  cry  of  pity  or  mercy  found  an  echo  in  a  savage  breast. 

What  was  wrong  here? 

He  had  proclaimed  the  slave  a  freeman.  He  had  placed 
an  iron  pike  in  his  right  hand  and  a  torch  in  his  left. 
Why  had  they  not  answered  with  a  shout  of  triumph  ? 

His  somber  mind  refused  to  believe  that  they  would  not 
rise.  Even  now  he  was  sure  they  were  mobilizing  in  a 
sheltered  mountain  gorge.  Before  noon  he  would  hear  the 
roar  of  their  coming  and  see  the  terror-stricken  faces  of 
the  whites  fleeing  before  their  rush. 

He  had  repeated  to  his  Northern  crowds  the  fable  of 
negro  suffering  in  the  South  until  he  believed  the  lie  him- 
self. He  believed  it  with  every  beat  of  his  stern  Puritan 
heart.  And  he  had  repeated  and  shouted  it  until  the 
gathering  Abolitionist  mob  believed  it  as  a  message  from 
God.  The  fact  that  the  system  of  African  slavery,  as 
actually  practiced  in  the  South,  was  the  mildest  and  most 
humane  form  of  labor  ever  fixed  by  the  masters  of  men, 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  255 

they  refused  to  consider.    The  mob  leader  never  allows  his 
followers  to  consider  facts. 

He  knows  that  his  crowd  prefers  dreams  to  facts. 
Dreams  are  the  motives  of  crowd  action.  The  dream,  the 
illusion,  the  unreality  have  ever  been  the  forces  that  have 
shaped  human  history  in  its  hours  of  crisis  when  Fate  has 
placed  the  future  in  the  hands  of  the  mob. 

The  fact  that  Slavery  in  the  South  had  lifted  millions  of 
black  savages — half  of  them  from  cannibal  tribes — into 
the  light  of  human  civilization — that  it  had  been  their 
school,  their  teacher,  their  church,  their  inspiration — did 
not  exist,  because  it  was  a  fact.  They  did  not  deal  in 
facts. 

And  so  again  Brown  lifted  his  burning  eyes  toward  the 
hills  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the  rivers.  Down  one  of 
those  rocky  slopes  the  Black  Legion  would  sweep  before 
the  day  was  done ! 

He  had  boldly  despatched  Cook  across  the  Potomac 
bridge  with  the  wagons,  horses  and  treasures  stolen  from 
Colonel  Washington's  house  to  be  stored  at  headquarters. 
There  was  still  no  doubt  or  shadow  of  turning  in  his  im- 
perious soul. 

With  each  passing  moment  the  swift  feet  of  the  avengers 
were  closing  the  trap  into  which  he  had  walked. 

By  ten  o'clock  the  terror-stricken  people  of  the  town 
and  county  had  seized  their  weapons  and  the  fight  began. 
Bullets  were  whistling  from  every  street  corner  and  every 
window  commanding  a  glimpse  of  the  Arsenal  and 
Armory. 

Brown's  handful  of  men  began  to  fall.  The  Rifle  Works 
surrendered  first  and  his  guard  of  three  men  were  all  dead 
or  wounded.  By  three  o'clock  his  forces  had  been  cut  to 
pieces  and  he  had  taken  refuge  in  the  Engine  House  of  the 
Armory.  The  bridges  were  held  by  the  people.  Owen, 


256 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Cook  and  his  guard  at  the  old  log  house  on  the  Maryland 
side  were  cut  off  and  could  not  come  to  his  rescue. 

The  amazing  news  of  an  Abolition  invasion  of  Virginia 
and  the  capture  of  the  United  States  Arsenal  and  Rifle 
Works  had  shaken  the  nation.  President  Buchanan  has- 
tily summoned  from  Arlington  the  foremost  soldier  of  the 
Republic  and  despatched  Colonel  Robert  E.  Lee  to  the 
scene  with  the  only  troops  available  at  the  Capital,  a  com- 
pany of  marines.  Lieutenant  J.  E.  B.  Stuart  volunteered 
to  act  as  his  aide.  The  young  cavalier  was  in  the  East 
celebrating  the  birth  of  a  baby  boy. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WHEN  the  marines   arrived  from  Washington  it 
was   past  midnight.      The   town   swarmed  with 
armed  men  from  every  farm  and  fireside.     Five 
companies  of  militia  from  Maryland  and  Virginia  were  on 
the  ground  and  Henry  Wise,  the  Governor  of  Virginia, 
was  hurrying  to  take  command. 

Stuart  had  established  Colonel  Lee's  headquarters  be- 
hind the  brick  wall  of  the  Arsenal  enclosure.  Not  more 
than  fifty  yards  from  the  gate  stood  the  Engine  House  in 
which  Brown  had  barricaded  himself  with  his  two  sons, 
Oliver  and  Watson,  and  four  of  his  men.  He  held  forty 
white  hostages. 

A  sentinel  of  marines  covered  the  entrance  to  the  en- 
closure. The  militia  had  yielded  command  to  the  United 
States  troops. 

As  Stuart  stood  awaiting  Colonel  Lee's  arrival,  Lieu- 
tenant Green,  in  command  of  the  marines,  stepped  briskly 
to  the  aide's  side  to  report  the  preliminary  work. 

As  yet  no  one  in  the  excited  town  knew  the  identity  of 
the  mysterious  commander  "John  Smith"  who  led  the  in- 
vasion. No  one  could  guess  the  number  of  men  he  had  in 
his  army  nor  how  many  he  held  in  reserve  on  the  Maryland 
hills. 

Stuart's  blue  eyes  flashed  with  excitement. 

257 


258 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"The  marines  have  the  Arsenal  completely  surrounded  ?" 
he  asked. 

"A  rat  couldn't  get  through,  Lieutenant  Stuart." 

"The  bridges  leading  into  Harper's  Ferry  guarded?" 

"Three  picked  men  at  each  end,  sir." 

"Any  signs  of  the  Abolitionists  on  the  hills  at  dawn?" 

"A  shot  from  a  sniper  on  the  Maryland  side  nipped  one 
of  the  guards — " 

"Then  their  headquarters  and  the  reserves  are  back  in 
Ihose  hills." 

"I'm  sure  of  it.    I've  sent  a  squad  to  get  the  sniper." 

"All  right,  it's  daylight.  Keep  your  marines  away  from 
the  Arsenal  gate.  It's  barely  fifty  yards  to  the  Engine 
House.  We've  got  the  Abolitionists  penned  inside.  But 
they're  good  shots." 

"I've  warned  them,  sir." 

"No  fighting  now  until  Colonel  Lee  takes  command. 
His  train  has  just  pulled  in." 

"Why  the  devil  didn't  he  come  with  us?"  Green  asked 
suddenly. 

"Called  to  the  White  House  for  a  conference  with  Presi- 
dent Buchanan,  in  such  haste  that  he  couldn't  stop  to  put 
on  his  uniform.  The  Capital's  agog  over  this  affair.  The 
wildest  rumors  are  afloat." 

"Nothing  to  the  rumors  afloat  here  among  these  militia- 
men and  dazed  citizens." 

"Colonel  Lee  will  straighten  them  out  in  short  order — " 

Stuart  suddenly  stiffened  to  attention  as  he  saw  the 
sodlierly  figure  of  the  Colonel  approaching  from  the  sta- 
tion with  quick,  firm  step.  Over  his  civilian  suit  he  had 
hastily  thrown  an  army  overcoat  and  looked  what  he  was, 
the  bronzed  veteran  commander  of  the  Texas  plains. 

He  saluted  the  two  young  officers  and  quickly  turned  to 
his  aide. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 259 

"No  sign  of  a  slave  uprising,  of  course  ?" 

"The  invaders  did  their  best  to  bring  it  on.  They've 
taken  about  fifty  negroes  from  their  masters." 

"Armed  them?" 

"With  pikes  and  rifles." 

"The  invaders  have  robbed  houses  as  reported?" 

"Taken  everything  they  could  get  their  hands  on.  They 
forced  their  way  into  Colonel  Washington's  home,  dragged 
him  from  bed,  stole  his  watch,  silver,  wagons,  horses,  sad- 
dles and  harness.  They  hold  him  a  prisoner  with  four  of 
his  slaves." 

"Colonel  Washington  is  now  their  prisoner?" 

"With  others  they  are  holding  as  hostages." 
'    "Hostages?" 

"They  swear  to  murder  them  all  at  the  first  sign  of  an 
attack." 

"They  won't !"  he  answered  sharply. 

"I  think  they  will,  sir.  They  shot  an  unarmed  negro 
porter  at  the  depot  and  murdered  the  Mayor  to-day  as 
he  was  passing  through  the  streets.  They  are  expecting 
reinforcements  at  any  minute." 

"The  militia  are  ready  for  duty  ?" 

"Some  are.     Some  are  drinking." 

Lee  turned  to  Lieutenant  Green. 

"Close  every  barroom  in  town." 

Green  saluted. 

"At  once,  sir." 

Green  turned  to  execute  the  order.  The  only  problem 
that  gave  Lee  concern  was  the  use  the  invaders  might  make 
of  the  prisoners  they  held.  That  they  would  not  hesitate 
to  expose  them  to  death  as  a  protection  to  their  own  lives 
he  couldn't  doubt.  Men  who  would  dare  the  crime  of 
raising  a  slave  insurrection  would  not  hesitate  to  violate 
the  code  of  military  honor. 


260 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

He  saw  Stuart  was  restless.  There  was  something  on 
his  mind.  He  half  guessed  the  trouble  and  paused. 

"Well,  Lieutenant?" 

Stuart  laughed. 

"I  suppose,  Colonel,  you  couldn't  possibly  let  me  lead 
the  assault  on  the  Engine  House,  could  you?" 

Lee's  eyes  twinkled  at  the  eager  look.  The  Colonel  was 
a  man  as  well  as  a  soldier.  And  he  was  a  father.  He 
loved  the  shouts  of  children  more  than  he  loved  the  shouts 
of  armies.  In  the  pause  he  saw  a  vision.  A  little  blue- 
eyed  mother  crooning  over  a  baby  which  she  had  named  for 
her  sweetheart.  The  great  heart  forgot  the  daring  soldier 
before  him  eager  for  a  fight.  He  saw  only  the  handsome 
husband  and  a  wife  at  home  praying  God  for  his  safe  re- 
turn. He  could  see  her  pressing  the  pink  bundle  of  flesh 
to  her  heart,  singing  a  lullaby  that  was  a  prayer.  There 
would  be  no  glory  in  such  an  assault.  There  was  only  the 
possibility  of  a  bloody  tragedy  before  a  handful  of  des- 
peradoes could  be  overcome.  He  faced  his  aide  with  a 
frown. 

"Lieutenant  Green  is  in  command  of  the  marines,  sir. 
You  are  only  my  voluntary  aide.  You  will  act  strictly 
within  the  rules  of  war." 

Stuart  saluted.  He  knew  that  his  commander  was  a 
stern  disciplinarian.  Argument  was  out  of  the  question. 
He  made  up  his  mind,  however,  to  watch  for  a  chance  to 
join  in  the  attack,  once  it  was  begun. 

Green  returned  from  his  errand  leading  an  old  negro 
who  held  one  of  Brown's  iron  pikes. 

The  lieutenant  thrust  the  trembling  figure  before  the 
Colonel. 

Lee  studied  him,  and  suppressed  the  smile  that  began  to 
play  about  his  lips. 

"Well,  uncle,  this  looks  bad  for  you,"  he  said  finally. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 261 

"Lordee,  Master,  don't  you  blame  me!"  the  old  negro 
protested. 

"They  found  him  hiding  in  the  bushes,"  Green  explained. 

"Yassah,"  the  old  man  broke  in.  "I  wuz  kivered  up  in 
de  leaves !" 

"That's  right,  sir,"  Green  agreed.  "The  pike  was 
standing  beside  a  tree.  They  raked  the  leaves  and  found 
him  in  a  hole." 

"An'  I  tried  ter  git  under  de  hole,  too." 

"The  raiders  took  you  by  force?"  Lee  asked. 

"Yassah !  Dey  pulls  me  outen  bed,  make  me  put  on  my 
close,  gimme  dis  here  han'  spike,  an'  tells  me  I  kin  kill  my 
ole  marster  an'  missis  when  I  feels  like  it — " 

"Did  you  try  to  kill  them?"  Lee  asked  seriously. 

"Who>    Me?" 

"Yes." 

"Man!  I  drawed  dat  han'  spike  on  dem  Abolishioners 
an'  I  says :  'You  low  doun  stinkin'  po'  white  trash.  Des 
try  ter  lay  de  weight  er  yo'  han'  on  my  marster  er  missis, 
— an'  I'll  Ian'  yo'  in  de  middle  of  er  spell  er  sickness* — " 

"And  they  took  you  prisoner." 

"Yassah." 

"I  see." 

"Dey  starts  ter  shoot  me  fust!  But  den  dey  say  I 
wuzn't  wuf  de  powder  an'  lead  hit  'ud  take  ter  kill  me." 

"And  you  escaped?" 

"Na  sah,  not  den.  Dey  make  me  go  wid  'em,  wher  er 
no.  But  I  git  loose  byme  bye  an'  crawl  inter  dat  patch  er 
trees  doun  dar  by  de  ribber — " 

"We  found  him  there,"  Green  nodded. 

"Yassah,  I  mak'  up  my  min'  dat  dey's  have  ter  burn  de 
woods  an'  sif  de  ashes  for'  dey  ebber  see  me  ergin." 

Stuart's  boyish  laughter  rang  without  restraint. 


262 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"All  right,  uncle,"  Lee  responded  cordially.  "You  can 
leave  that  pike  with  me." 

"Yassah,  you  kin  sho  have  it.  God  knows  I  ain't  got  no 
use  fur  it." 

He  threw  the  pike  down  and  brushed  his  hands  as  if  to 
get  rid  of  the  contagion  of  its  touch. 

"You're  safe,"  Lee  added.  "The  United  States  Marines 
are  in  command  of  Harper's  Ferry  now." 

"Yassah.  De  Lawd  knows  I  doan  wanter  'sociate  wid 
no  slu-footed,  knock-kneed  po'  whites.  I'se  er  ristercrat, 
I  is.  Yassah,  dat's  me !" 

"I'm  glad  to  help  you,  uncle." 

"Thankee,  sah." 

"Hurry  back  to  your  home  now  and  help  your  people 
5n  their  troubles." 

"Yassah,  right  away,  sah — right  away!" 

The  old  man  hurried  home,  bowing  right  and  left  to  his 
white  friends  and  muttering  curses  on  the  heads  of  the 
Abolitionists,  who  had  dragged  him  from  his  bed  and 
caused  him  to  lose  four  square  meals. 

Lee  examined  the  pike  carefully.  He  measured  its  long 
stiletto-like  blade,  projecting  nine  inches  from  its  fasten- 
ings in  the  hickory  handle.  He  observed  the  skill  and  care 
with  which  the  rivets  had  been  set. 

"An  ugly  piece  of  iron,"  he  said  at  last. 

"I'll  bet  they've  thousands  of  them  somewhere  back  in 
these  hills,"  Stuart  added. 

"And  not  a  negro  has  lifted  his  hand  against  his  mas- 
ter?" 

"Not  one." 

Lee  ran  his  fingers  along  the  edges  of  the  blade  and  a 
dreamy  look  came  into  his  thoughtful  eyes. 

"My  boy,  such  people  deserve  their  freedom.  But  not 
this  way — not  this  way!  God  save  us  from  the  horrors 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 263 

of  the  mob  and  the  fanatic  who  leads  them!  Slavery  is 
surely  and  swiftly  dying.  It  cannot  survive  the  economic 
pressure  of  the  century.  If  only  we  can  be  saved  from 
such  madness." 

His  voice  died  away  as  in  a  troubled  dream.  He  looked 
up  suddenly  and  turned  to  his  aide. 

"I  must  summon  their  leader  to  surrender.  You  have 
not  yet  learned  his  name?" 

"He  calls  himself  John  Smith,  sir.  They've  been  here 
all  summer  in  an  old  farmhouse  on  the  Maryland  side." 

"Strange  that  their  purpose  should  not  have  been  dis- 
covered. Their  work  has  been  carefully  and  secretly 
planned." 

"Beyond  a  doubt." 

"They  could  not  have  done  it  without  big  backing  some- 
where." 

"They've  had  it.  They've  had  plenty  of  money.  They 
have  rifles  of  the  finest  make.  And  they're  not  the  type 
made  in  this  Arsenal." 

"They  expected  to  use  the  rifles  in  the  Armory,  of 
course.  And  they  expect  reinforcements.  Any  sign  of 
their  reserves?" 

"Not  yet,  sir.  We  have  the  roads  guarded  for  ten 
miles." 

"We'll  settle  it  before  they  can  get  help,"  Lee  said 
sharply. 

He  hastily  wrote  a  summons  to  surrender  and  handed 
it  to  Stuart. 

"Approach  the  Engine  House  under  a  flag  of  truce. 
Ask  for  a  parley  with  their  leader  and  give  him  this." 

Stuart  saluted. 

"At  once,  sir." 

He  attached  his  handkerchief  to  his  sword  and  entered 
the  gate.  A  loud  murmur  rose  from  the  crowd  of  excited 


264 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY _ 

people  who  had  pressed  close  to  see  the  famous  commander 
of  the  Marines. 

Lee  turned  to  the  sentinel. 

"Push  that  crowd  back." 

The  crowd  had  pressed  closer,  watching  Stuart  with 
increasing  excitement. 

The  sentinel  clubbed  his  musket  and  pressed  against  the 
front  men  savagely. 

"Stand  back !" 

The  people  slowly  retreated.  Lee  turned  to  Lieutenant 
Green. 

"Your  men  are  ready  for  action?" 

"They  await  your  orders,  sir." 

"I  suppose  you  wish  the  honor  of  leading  the  troops 
in  taking  these  men  out  of  the  Engine  House?" 

Green  smiled  and  bowed. 

"Thank  you,  Colonel!" 

"Pick  a  detail  of  only  twelve  men,  with  a  reserve  of 
twelve  more.  When  Lieutenant  Stuart  gives  you  the  sig- 
nal, assault  the  Engine  House  and  batter  down  the  doors 
with  sledge  hammers — " 

Green  saluted. 

"Yes,  sir." 

Lee  spoke  his  next  command  in  sharp  emphasis. 

"The  citizens  inside  whom  the  raiders  are  holding  must 
not  be  harmed.  See  to  this  when  you  gain  an  entrance. 
Once  inside,  pick  your  enemies.  You  understand?" 

"Perfectly,  sir." 

"Hold  your  men  in  check  until  the  signal  to  attack.  I 
hope  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  give  it.  I  shall  do  my  best 
to  avoid  further  bloodshed." 

"All  right,  sir." 

Green  saluted  and  stood  at  attention  awaiting  the  ar- 
rival of  Stuart. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 265 

Lee's  aide  had  approached  the  Engine  House,  watched 
in  breathless  suspense  by  a  crowd  of  more  than  two  thou- 
sand people.  In  spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  sentinels  they 
had  jammed  every  inch  of  space  commanding  a  view  of 
the  enclosure. 

When  Stuart  reached  the  bullet-marked  door  he  called : 

"For  Mr.  Smith,  the  commander  of  the  invaders,  I  have 
a  communication  from  Colonel  Lee !" 

Brown  opened  the  door  about  four  inches  and  placed  his 
body  against  the  crack.  Stuart  could  see  through  the 
opening  his  hand  gripping  a  rifle. 

He  refused  to  open  it  further  and  the  parley  was  held 
with  the  door  ajar. 

He  at  last  allowed  Stuart  to  enter. 

His  first  look  at  the  man's  face  startled  him.  The  full 
gray  beard  could  not  mask  the  terrible  mouth  which  he 
had  studied  one  day  in  Kansas.  And  nothing  could  dim 
the  flame  that  burned  in  his  blue-gray  eyes. 

He  recognized  him  instantly. 

"Why,  aren't  you  old  Osawatomie  Brown  of  Kansas, 
whom  I  once  held  there  as  my  prisoner?" 

"Yes,  but  you  didn't  keep  me." 

"I  have  a  written  communication  from  Colonel  Lee." 

"Read  it." 

Stuart  drew  the  sheet  of  paper  from  his  pocket  and  read 
in  his  clear,  ringing  voice : 

"Headquarters  Harper's  Ferry, 

"October  18,  1859. 

"Colonel  Lee,  United  States   Army,  commanding 

the  troops  sent  by  the  President  of  the  United  States 

to  suppress  the  insurrection  at  this  place,  demands  the 

surrender  of  the  people  in  the  Armory  buildings. 

"If  they  will  peaceably  surrender  themselves  and 


266 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

return  the  pillaged  property,  they  shall  be  kept  in 
safety  to  await  the  orders  of  the  President.  Colonel 
Lee  reports  to  them,  in  all  frankness,  that  it  is  impos- 
sible for  them  to  escape,  that  the  Armory  is  sur- 
rounded by  troops,  and  that  if  he  is  compelled  to  take 
them  by  force  he  cannot  answer  for  their  safety. 

"R.  E.  LEE, 
"Colonel  Commanding  U.  S.  Troops." 

Stuart  waited  and  Brown  made  no  reply. 

"You  will  surrender?" 

"I  will  not,"  was  the  prompt  answer. 

In  vain  the  young  officer  tried  to  persuade  the  stubborn 
old  man  to  submit  without  further  loss  of  life. 

"I  advise  you  to  trust  to  the  clemency  of  the  Govern- 
ment," Stuart  urged. 

"I  know  what  that  means,  sir.  A  rope  for  my  men  and 
myself.  I  prefer  to  die  just  here." 

"I'll  give  you  a  short  time  to  think  it  over  and  return 
for  your  final  answer." 

Brown  at  once  began  to  barricade  the  doors  and  win- 
dows. And  Stuart  reported  to  his  commander. 

Lee  met  him  at  the  gate. 

"Well?" 

"A  little  surprise  for  us,  Colonel — " 

"He  refuses  to  surrender?" 

"Absolutely.  Captain  'John  Smith'  turns  out  to  be  Old 
John  Brown  of  Osawatomie,  Kansas,  sir." 

"You're  sure?" 

"I  couldn't  be  mistaken.  I  had  him  a  prisoner  on  the 
plains  once  when  our  troops  were  ordered  out  to  quell  the 
disturbances." 

"That  man's  been  here  all  summer  planning  this  at- 
tack?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 267 

"And  not  a  soul  knew  him." 

Lee  was  silent  a  moment  and  spoke  slowly : 

"It  can  only  mean  a  conspiracy  of  wide  scope  to  drench 
the  South  in  blood—" 

"Of  course." 

"He  refuses  to  yield  without  a  fight?" 

Stuart  laughed. 

"He  don't  know  how  to  surrender.  I  left  him  with  two 
pistols  and  a  bowie  knife  in  his  belt  and  a  rifle  in  each 
hand." 

"How  many  men  were  with  him?" 

"I  saw  but  six  besides  the  prisoners  he  holds  as  hos- 
tages. The  prisoners  begged  for  an  interview  with  you, 
sir.  I  told  them  to  be  quiet — that  you  knew  what  you 
were  doing." 

"It's  incredible !"  Lee  exclaimed. 

He  paused  in  deep  thought  and  went  on  as  if  talking 
to  himself. 

"Strange  old  man — I  must  see  him." 

"I  wouldn't,  Colonel.    He's  a  tough  customer." 

"I  hate  to  order  an  assault  on  six  men.  He  must  be 
insane." 

"No  more  than  you  are,  unless  the  pursuit  of  a  fixed 
idea  for  a  lifetime  makes  a  man  insane." 

Lee  turned  suddenly  to  his  aide. 

"Press  that  crowd  back  into  the  next  street  and  ask 
him  to  come  here  under  a  flag  of  truce." 

"I  warn  you,  Colonel,"  Stuart  protested.  "He  vio- 
lated a  flag  of  truce  in  Kansas.  He  won't  hesitate  to 
shoot  you  on  sight  if  he  takes  a  notion." 

Lee  smiled. 

"He  didn't  try  to  shoot  you  on  sight,  did  he?" 

"No—" 

"Go  back  and  bring  him  here.     I  must  find  out  some 


268 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

things  from  him  if  I  can.  He  may  not  survive  the  as- 
sault." 

Stuart  again  fixed  his  flag  of  truce  and  returned  to  the 
Engine  House.  This  time  the  Colonel  called  a  cordon  of 
marines  and  pressed  the  crowd  into  the  next  street. 

He  beckoned  to  a  sentinel. 

"Ask  Lieutenant  Green  to  step  here." 

The  sentinel  called  a  marine  to  take  his  place  and  went 
in  search  of  the  commander  of  the  company. 

Lee  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  hills  of  Maryland.  But  a  few 
miles  beyond  the  first  range  lay  the  town  of  Sharpsburg, 
where  Destiny  was  setting  the  stage  for  the  bloodiest  bat- 
tle in  the  history  of  the  republic.  A  little  farther  on  lay 
the  town  of  Gettysburg,  over  whose  ragged  hills  Death 
was  hovering  in  search  of  camping  ground. 

Did  his  prophetic  soul  pierce  the  future?  Never  had 
he  been  more  profoundly  depressed.  The  event  he  was 
witnessing  was  but  the  prelude  to  a  tragedy  he  felt  to 
be  from  this  hour  inevitable. 

Green  saluted  in  answer  to  his  summons. 

"I  want  you  to  witness  an  interview  which  I  will  have 
with  John  Brown,  and  receive  my  final  orders !" 

"The  leader  is  old  John  Brown?" 

"Lieutenant  Stuart  has  identified  him." 

A  shout  from  a  crowd  of  boys  who  had  climbed  the  trees 
of  the  next  street  caused  Lee  to  turn  toward  the  gate  as 
the  invader  and  Stuart  passed  through. 

As  Lee  confronted  Brown  no  more  startling  contrast 
could  be  presented  by  two  men  born  under  the  same  flag. 
John  Brown  with  his  bristling,  unkempt  beard,  his  two 
revolvers  and  sword  hanging  and  dangling  on  his  gaunt 
frame,  his  eyes  glittering  and  red  from  the  loss  of  two 
nights'  sleep,  the  incarnation  of  Lawlessness ;  Lee,  the 
trained  soldier,  the  inheritor  of  centuries  of  constructive 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 269 

genius,  the  aristocrat  in  taste,  the  humblest  and  gentlest 
Christian  in  spirit,  the  lover  of  Peace,  of  Order. 

The  commander  of  the  forces  of  Law  spoke  in  friendly 
tones. 

"You  are  John  Brown  of  Osawatomie,  Kansas?" 

"Yes !" 

"You  are  in  command  of  the  invaders  who  have  killed 
four  citizens  of  Harper's  Ferry  and  seized  the  United 
States  Arsenal?" 

"I  am  in  command." 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  why  you  have  invaded  Vir- 
ginia ?" 

"To  free  your  slaves." 

"How  many  men  were  under  your  command  when  you 
entered  ?" 

"Seventeen  white  men  and  five  colored  freedmen." 

"With  an  armed  force  of  twenty-two  you  have  invaded 
the  South  to  free  three  million  slaves?" 

"I  expected  help — "  He  paused  and  his  burning  eyes 
flashed  toward  the  hills.  "And  I  still  expect  it !" 

"From  whom  could  you  expect  it?" 

"From  here  and  elsewhere." 

"From  blacks  as  well  as  whites  ?" 

"From  both." 

"You  have  been  disappointed  in  not  getting  it  from 
either?" 

"Thus  far— yes." 

Lee  studied  him  with  increasing  wonder.  There  was  a 
quiet  daring  in  his  attitude,  an  utter  disregard  of  the 
tragic  forces  that  had  closed  in  on  his  ill-fated  venture 
that  was  astounding.  What  could  be  its  secret?  It  was 
something  more  than  the  coolness  and  poise  of  a  brave 
man.  His  manner  was  not  cool.  His  mind  was  not  poised. 


270 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

There  was  a  vibrant  ring  to  his  metallic  voice  which  be- 
trayed the  profoundest  emotion.  His  daring  came  from 
some  mysterious  source  within.  It  was  a  daring  that  was 
the  contradiction  of  reason  and  experience.  It  was  un- 
canny. 

Lee  asked  his  questions  in  measured  tones. 

"You  were  disappointed,  I  take  it,  particularly  in  the 
conduct  of  the  blacks  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Exactly.  If  negro  Slavery  in  the  South  were  to-day 
the  beastly  thing  which  you  and  Garrison  have  so  long 
proclaimed,  you  could  not  have  been  disappointed.  Had 
your  illusion  of  abuse  and  cruelty  been  true  the  negroes 
would  have  risen  to  a  man,  put  their  masters  to  death, 
and  burned  their  homes.  Yet,  not  a  black  man  has  lifted 
his  hand.  There  must  be  something  wrong  in  your 
facts—" 

Brown  lifted  his  head  solemnly. 

"There  can  be  nothing  wrong  in  my  faith,  Colonel  Lee. 
It  comes  from  God." 

"I  didn't  say  your  faith,  my  friend.  I  said  your 
facts — "  He  paused  and  picked  up  the  pike. 

"These  unused  pikes  bear  witness  to  your  error.  This 
is  an  ugly  weapon,  Mr.  Brown!" 

"It  was  meant  to  kill." 

"We  found  it  in  the  hands  of  a  negro." 

"I  wish  to  conceal  nothing,  sir — "  The  old  man  paused, 
lifted  his  stooped  shoulders  and  drew  a  deep  breath.  "I 
armed  fifty  blacks  with  them  and  I  had  many  more  which 
I  hoped  to  use." 

Lee  touched  the  point  of  the  two-edged  blade. 

"This  piece  of  iron,  then,  placed  in  the  hands  of  a 
negro  was  meant  for  the  breasts  of  Southern  white  men, 
women  and  children?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 271 

"I  came  to  proclaim  your  slaves  free  and  give  them  the 
weapons  to  make  good  my  orders." 

"Who  gave  you  the  authority  to  issue  orders  of  life 
and  death?"  Lee  asked  with  slow,  steady  emphasis. 

Brown's  eyes  flashed. 

"I  gave  it  to  myself,  sir.  By  the  authority  of  my  con- 
science and  what  I  believe  to  be  right." 

"Suppose  all  took  the  same  orders?  Every  man  who 
differs  with  his  neighbor,  gets  his  gun,  proclaims  himself 
the  mouthpiece  of  God  and  kills  those  who  disagree  with 
him.  Civilization  is  built  on  an  agreement  not  to  do  this 
thing.  We  have  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  officer  of  the 
law  the  task  of  executing  justice.  The  moment  we  dare 
as  individuals  to  take  this  into  our  own  hands,  the  world 
becomes  a  den  of  wild  beasts — " 

"The  world's  already  a  den  of  wild  beasts,"  Brown  in- 
terrupted sharply.  "They  have  snarled  and  snapped  long 
enough.  It's  time  to  clinch  and  fight  it  out." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  savage  earnestness  of 
the  man  who  spoke.  There  was  the  ring  of  steel  in  every 
word.  Lee  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"May  I  ask  how  many  people  you  know  in  the  North 
who  feel  that  way  toward  the  South?" 

"Millions,  sir." 

"And  they  back  you  in  this  attack  ?" 

"A  few  chosen  prophets — yes — thank  God." 

"And  these  prophets  of  the  coming  mob  of  millions 
have  furnished  you  the  money  to  arm  and  equip  this  ex- 
pedition ?" 

"They  have." 

"It's  amazing — " 

"The  millions  are  yet  asleep,"  Brown  admitted.  He 
shook  his  gray  locks  as  his  terrible  mouth  closed  with  a 


272 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

deep  intake  of  breath.  "But  I'll  awake  them !  The  thun- 
derbolt which  I  have  launched  over  Harper's  Ferry  will 
call  them.  And  they  will  follow  me.  I  hope  to  hear  the 
throb  of  their  drums  over  the  hills  before  you  have  finished 
with  me  to-day !" 

Lee  was  silent  again,  looking  at  the  face  with  flaming 
eyes  in  a  new  wonder. 

"And  you  invade  to  rob  and  murder  at  will?" 

"I  have  not  robbed !" 

"No?" 

"I  have  confiscated  the  property  of  slaveholders  for 
use  in  a  divine  cause." 

"Who  gave  you  the  right  to  confiscate  the  property 
of  others  in  any  cause?" 

"Again  I  answer,  my  conscience." 

"So  a  common  thief  can  say." 

"I  am  no  common  thief." 

"Yet  when  you  forced  your  way  into  Colonel  Washing- 
ton's home  at  night  you  committed  a  felony,  known  as 
burglary." 

"I  did  it  in  a  holy  crusade,  sir." 

"The  highwayman  on  the  plains  might  plead  the  same 
necessity." 

"You  know,  Colonel  Lee,  that  I  am  neither  felon,  nor 
highwayman.  I  am  an  Abolitionist.  My  sole  aim  in  the 
invasion  of  the  South  is  to  free  the  slave — " 

"At  any  cost?" 

"At  any  cost.  I  see,  feel,  know  but  one  thing — that 
you  are  guilty  of  a  great  wrong  against  God  and  human- 
ity. I  have  the  right  to  interfere  with  you.  To  free  those 
whom  you  hold  in  bondage." 

"Even  though  you  deluge  the  world  in  blood?" 

"Yes.  That  is  why  I  am  here.  I  have  no  personal 
hate.  No  spirit  of  revenge.  I  have  killed  only  when  I 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  273 

thought  I  had  to.  I  have  protected  your  citizens  whom 
I  hold  as  prisoners." 

"You  had  no  right  to  take  those  men  prisoners." 

Brown  ignored  the  interruption. 

"I  ordered  my  men  to  fire  only  on  those  who  were  try- 
ing to  stop  our  work." 

"And  yet  you  placed  these  pikes  in  the  hands  of  negroes 
and  gave  them  oil-soaked  torches  ?" 

Brown  threw  his  hand  high  over  his  head  as  if  to  waive 
an  irrelevant  remark. 

"I  am  here,  sir,  to  aid  those  suffering  a  great  wrong." 

"And  you  begin  by  doing  a  greater  wrong!" 

The  old  man  pursued  his  one  idea  without  a  break  in 
thought.  Lee's  words  made  not  the  slightest  impression. 

"This  question  of  the  negro,  Colonel  Lee,  you  must 
face.  You  may  dispose  of  me  now  easily.  But  this  ques- 
tion is  still  to  be  settled.  The  end  of  that  is  not  yet!" 

"I,  too,  believe  that  Slavery  is  wrong,  my  friend.  Yet 
surely  this  is  not  the  way  to  bring  to  the  slave  his  free- 
dom. On  pikes  to  be  driven  into  the  breasts  of  unoffend- 
ing men  and  women !  Two  wrongs  have  never  yet  made  a 
right." 

The  old  man  lifted  his  head  towards  the  hills  and  a  look 
of  religious  rapture  overspread  his  furrowed  face.  His 
soul's  deepest  faith  breathed  in  his  words : 

"Moral  suasion  is  a  vain  thing,  sir.  This  issue  can  be 
settled  in  blood  alone." 

The  Colonel  watched  him  with  a  growing  feeling  of 
futility. 

"I  have  taken  pains  in  this  interview,  Mr.  Brown,  to 
clear  the  way  for  your  surrender  without  bloodshed.  I 
cannot  persuade  you?" 

"Upon  what  terms?" 

"Terms?" 


274 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  

"I  said  so,  sir." 

The  Colonel  marveled  at  his  audacity.  Yet  he  was  in 
dead  earnest.  His  suggestion  was  not  bravado. 

"The  only  possible  terms  I  can  offer  I  suggested  in  my 
first  message.  I  will  protect  you  and  your  men  from  this 
infuriated  crowd  and  guarantee  you  a  fair  trial  by  the  civil 
authorities." 

"I  can't  accept,"  Brown  answered  curtly.  "You  must 
allow  me  to  leave  this  place  with  my  men  and  the  prisoners 
I  hold  as  hostages  until  I  reach  the  canal  locks  on  the 
Maryland  side.  There  I  will  release  your  citizens,  and  as 
soon  as  this  is  done  your  troops  may  fire  on  us,  and  pur- 
sue us." 

"Such  an  offer  is  a  waste  of  words.  You  must  see  that 
further  resistance  is  useless." 

"You  have  the  numbers  on  us,  sir,"  Brown  answered 
defiantly.  "But  we  are  not  afraid  of  death.  I'd  as  lief 
die  by  a  bullet  as  on  the  gallows.  I  can  do  more  now  by 
dying  than  by  living.  I  came  here  to  destroy  the  insti- 
tution of  Slavery  by  the  sword — " 

Lee's  answer  came  with  clean-cut  emphasis. 

"The  law  which  protects  Slavery  is  going  to  be  repealed 
in  God's  own  time.  I  am,  myself,  working  toward  that 
end  as  well  as  you,  sir,  and  the  end  is  sure.  But  at  this 
moment  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  to  which  we 
owe  liberty,  justice,  order,  progress,  wealth  and  power, 
guarantees  this  institution.  Until  its  repeal  it  is  my  duty 
and  it  is  your  duty  to  obey  the  law.  Will  you  submit?" 

Brown's  answer  came  like  the  crack  of  a  rifle. 

"The  laws  of  the  United  States  I  have  burned  in  a  pub- 
lic square,  sir.  The  Constitution  is  a  covenant  with  Death, 
an  agreement  with  Hell.  I  loathe  it.  I  despise  it.  I  spit 
upon  it — " 

Lee  lifted  his  Land  in  gesture  of  command. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 275 

"That  will  do,  sir !" 

He  faced  Stuart  with  quick  decision. 

"Take  him  back  to  his  men  and  give  the  signal  of  as- 
sault." 

"Good!" 

Stuart  turned  to  Green. 

"I'll  wave  my  cap." 

Stuart  led  Brown  through  the  gate  to  the  Engine 
House. 

Lee  summoned  Green. 

"Your  troops  are  raw  men,  I  understand." 

"They  have  never  been  under  fire,  sir.  But  they're  sol- 
diers— never  fear." 

"All  right.  We'll  put  them  to  the  test.  Assault  and 
take  the  Engine  House  without  firing  a  shot.  No  matter 
how  severe  the  fire  on  you,  we  must  protect  our  citizens 
held  inside.  Use  the  bayonet  only.  Give  each  of  your 
twelve  men  careful  instructions.  When  fired  on,  they  must 
not  return  that  fire !" 

Green  saluted  and  passed  to  the  head  of  his  detail  of 
twelve  men.  A  shout  from  the  boys  in  the  tree  tops  was 
the  signal  of  Stuart's  return. 

"Watch  that  crowd,"  Lee  ordered  the  sentinel.  "Use 
the  reserves  to  hold  them  out  of  range." 

Stuart  returned  with  his  eyes  flashing. 

"Ready,  sir!" 

"Give  your  signal." 

Stuart  stepped  into  the  open,  and  waved  his  cap. 

Green's  detail  of  twelve  men,  the  commander  at  their 
head,  rushed  to  the  Engine  House  with  a  shout.  The 
crowd  of  two  thousand  people  answered  with  a  roar. 

A  volley  rang  from  the  besieged  and  a  moment's  silence 
followed.  Their  first  shots  had  gone  wild  and  not  a  marine 
had  fallen.  They  had  reached  the  door  and  their  sledge 


276 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

hammers  were  raining  blows  on  its  solid  timbers.  An  in- 
cessant fire  poured  from  the  portholes  which  Brown  had 
cut  through  the  walls.  The  men  were  so  close  to  the  door 
his  shots  were  not  effective. 

Brown  ordered  one  of  his  prisoners,  Captain  Danger- 
field,  a  clerk  of  the  Armory  Staff,  to  secure  the  fastenings. 
Dangerfield  slipped  the  bolts  to  their  limit  and  stood 
watching  his  chance  to  throw  them  and  admit  the  marines. 

Brown  ordered  him  back.  He  retreated  a  few  feet  and 
watched  the  bolts,  as  the  blows  rained  on  the  door. 

Stuart  had  slipped  into  the  fight.     He  called  to  Green. 

"The  hammers  are  too  light.  There's  a  big  ladder  out- 
side. Get  it  and  use  it  as  a  battering  ram." 

With  a  shout  the  marines  seized  the  ladder,  five  men  on 
a  side,  and  drove  it  with  tremendous  force  against  the 
door.  The  first  blow  shivered  a  panel. 

Brown  ordered  the  fire  engine  rolled  against  the  door. 
Dangerfield  sprang  to  assist.  He  slipped  the  bolt  out 
instead  of  in !  The  next  rush  of  the  ladder  drove  the  door 
against  the  engine,  rolled  it  back  a  foot  and  made  a  small 
opening  through  which  Lieutenant  Green  forced  his  way. 

The  marines  crowded  in  behind  him.  Green  sprang  on 
the  engine  with  drawn  sword  and  looked  for  Brown.  A 
shower  of  bullets  greeted  him.  Yet  the  miracle  happened. 
Not  one  touched  him.  He  recognized  Colonel  Washing- 
ton, leaped  from  the  engine  and  rushed  to  his  side. 

On  one  knee,  a  few  feet  to  his  left,  knelt  a  man  witK  a 
carbine  in  his  hand  pulling  the  lever  to  reload. 

Colonel  Washington  waved  his  arm. 

"That's  Osawatomie." 

The  Lieutenant  sprang  twelve  feet  at  him.  He  gave  a 
quick  underthrust  of  his  sword,  struck  him  midway  of  the 
body  and  raised  the  old  man  completely  from  the  ground. 
He  fell  forward  with  his  head  between  his  knees.  Green 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 277 

clubbed  his  sword  and  rained  blow  after  blow  on  his  head. 

The  men  who  watched  the  scene  supposed  that  he  had 
split  the  skull.  Yet  he  survived.  Green's  first  sword 
thrust  had  struck  the  heavy  leather  belt  and  did  not  enter 
the  body.  The  sword  was  bent  double.  The  clubbed  blade 
was  too  light.  It  had  made  only  superficial  wounds. 

As  the  marines  pressed  through  the  opening  the  first 
man  was  shot  dead.  The  second  was  wounded  in  the  face. 
The  men  who  followed  made  short  work  of  the  fight.  They 
bayonetted  a  raider  under  the  engine  and  pinned  another 
to  the  wall. 

The  fight  had  lasted  but  three  minutes. 

Brown  lay  on  the  ground  wounded.  His  son,  Oliver, 
was  dead.  His  son,  Watson,  was  mortally  wounded.  All 
the  rest  were  dead  or  prisoners,  save  seven  who  made  good 
their  escape  with  Cook  and  Owen  Brown  into  the  hills  of 
Pennsylvania. 

Colonel  Lee  entered  the  Engine  House  and  greeted 
Washington. 

"You  are  all  right,  sir?" 

"Sound  as  a  dollar,  Colonel  Lee.  The  damned  old  fool's 
had  me  penned  up  here  for  two  days.  I'm  dry  as  a  powder 
horn  and  hungry  as  a  wolf.  Nothing  to  eat,  and  nothing 
to  drink,  but  water  out  of  a  horse-bucket!" 

Green  faced  his  Colonel  and  saluted.  He  glanced  at 
the  prostrate  prisoners. 

"See  that  their  wounds  are  dressed  immediately.  Give 
them  good  food,  and  take  them  as  quickly  as  possible  to 
the  jail  at  Charlestown  under  heavy  guard.  See  that  they 
are  not  harmed  or  insulted  by  the  people." 

Lee  turned  sadly  to  his  friend. 

"Colonel  Washington,  the  thing  we  have  dreaded  has 
come.  The  first  blow  has  been  struck.  The  Blood  Feud 
has  been  raised." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

ON  the  surface  only  was  the  Great  Deed  a  failure. 
Not  a  single  pike  had  been  thrust  into  a  white 
man's  breast  by  his  slave.    Not  a  single  torch  had 
been  applied  to  a  Southern  home.     His  chosen  Captains 
never  passed  the  sentinel  peak  into  Fauquier  county.    The 
Black  Bees  had  not  swarmed.    But  the  keen  ear  of  the  old 
man  had  heard  the  rumble  of  the  swarming  of  twenty 
million  white  hornets  in  the  North. 

The  moment  he  had  lifted  his  head  a  prisoner  in  the 
hands  of  his  courteous  captor,  he  foresaw  the  power  which 
the  role  of  martyrdom  would  give  to  his  cause.  Instantly 
he  assumed  the  part  and  played  it  with  genius  to  the  last 
breath  of  his  indomitable  body. 

He  had  stained  the  soil  of  Virginia  with  the  blood  of 
innocent  and  unoffending  citizens.  He  had  raised  the 
Blood  Feud  at  the  right  moment,  a  few  months  before  a 
Presidential  campaign.  He  had  raised  it  at  the  right  spot 
in  a  mountain  gorge  that  looked  southward  to  the  Capi- 
tol at  Washington  and  northward  to  the  beating  hearts 
of  the  millions,  who  had  been  prepared  for  this  event  by  the 
long  years  of  the  Abolition  Crusade  which  had  culminated 
in  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 

A  wave  of  horror  for  a  moment  swept  the  nation,  North 
and  South.  Frederick  Douglas  fled  to  Europe.  Sanborn, 
the  treasurer  and  manager  of  the  conspiracy,  hurried 

278 


_ THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 279 

across  the  border  into  Canada.  Howe  and  Stearns  hid. 
Theodore  Parker  was  already  in  Europe. 

Poor,  old,  gentle,  generous  Gerrit  Smith  collapsed  and 
was  led  to  the  insane  asylum  at  Ithaca,  New  York. 

Two  men  alone  of  the  conspirators  realized  the  tremen- 
dous thing  that  had  been  done — John  Brown  in  jail  at 
Charlestown,  and  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson,  the  mili- 
tant preacher  of  Massachusetts. 

To  Brown,  life  had  been  an  unbroken  horror.  His 
tragic  Puritan  soul  had  ever  faced  it  with  scorn — scorn 
for  himself  and  the  world.  He  was  used  to  failure  and 
disaster.  They  had  been  his  meat  and  drink.  Bank- 
ruptcy, imprisonment,  flight  from  justice  and  the  death  of 
half  his  children  had  been  mere  incidents  of  life. 

He  had  cast  scarcely  a  glance  at  his  dying  sons  in  the 
Engine  House.  He  had  not  tried  to  minister  to  them. 
His  hand  was  tightly  gripped  on  his  carbine. 

His  grim  soul  now  rose  to  its  first  long  flight  of  re- 
ligious ecstacy.  He  saw  that  the  Southerner's  reverence 
for  Law  and  Order  would  make  his  execution  inevitable. 
His  dark  spirit  shouted  for  joy.  His  own  blood,  if  he 
could  succeed  in  playing  the  role  of  martyr,  would  raise 
the  Blood  Feud  to  its  highest  power.  No  statesman,  no 
leader,  no  poet,  no  seer  could  calm  the  spirit  of  the  ar- 
chaic beast  in  man,  which  this  martyrdom  would  raise  if 
skillfully  played.  He  was  sure  he  could  play  the  role  with 
success. 

The  one  man  in  the  North  who  saw  with  clear  vision 
the  thing  which  Brown's  failure  had  done  was  the  Worces- 
ter clergyman. 

Higginson  was  a  preacher  by  accident.  He  was  a  born 
soldier.  From  the  first  meeting  with  Brown  his  fighting 
spirit  had  answered  his  cry  for  blood  with  a  shout  of  ap- 
proval. Higginson  not  only  refused  to  run,  but  also 


280 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

groaned  with  shame  at  the  fears  of  his  fellow  conspirators. 
His  first  utterance  was  characteristic  of  his  spirit. 

"I  am  overwhelmed  with  remorse  that  the  men  who  gave 
him  money  and  arms  could  not  have  been  by  his  side  when 
he  fell." 

He  stood  his  ground  in  Worcester  and  (dared  arrest. 
He  did  not  proclaim  his  guilt  from  the  housetop.  But 
his  friends  and  neighbors  knew  and  he  walked  the  streets 
with  head  erect. 

He  did  more.  He  joined  with  John  W.  LeBarnes  and 
immediately  organized  a  plot  to  liberate  Brown  by  force. 
He  raised  the  money  and  engaged  George  H.  Hoyt  to  go 
to  Harper's  Ferry,  ostensibly  to  appear  as  his  attorney  at 
the  trial,  in  reality  to  act  as  a  spy,  discover  the  strength 
of  the  jail  and  find  whether  it  could  be  stormed  and  taken 
by  a  company  of  determined  men. 

At  his  first  interview  with  Brown  the  spy  revealed  his 
purpose. 

"I  have  come  from  Boston  to  rescue  you,"  he  whis- 
pered. 

The  old  man's  face  was  convulsed  with  anger.  He  spoke 
in  the  tones  of  final  command  which  had  always  closed 
argument  with  friend  or  foe. 

"Never  will  I  consent  to  such  a  scheme." 

"But  listen—" 

"You  listen  to  me,  young  man.  The  bare  mention  of 
this  thing  again  and  I  shall  refuse  to  see  or  speak  to  you. 
Do  you  accept  my  decision,  sir?" 

Hoyt  agreed  at  once.  Only  in  this  way  could  he  keep 
in  touch  with  the  man  whom  he  had  come  to  save. 

"The  last  thing  on  this  earth  I  would  ask,"  Brown  con- 
tinued sternly,  "is  to  be  taken  from  this  jail  except  by  the 
State  of  Virginia  when  I  shall  ascend  the  scaffold." 

Hoyt  looked  longingly  at  the  old-fashioned  fireplace  in 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  281 

his  prison  room.  Two  men  could  have  crawled  up  its  flue 
at  the  same  time. 

His  refusal  did  not  stop  Higginson's  efforts.  He  ap- 
pealed to  the  forlorn  wife  at  North  Elba,  New  York,  to 
go  to  Harper's  Ferry,  ask  to  see  her  husband  and  whisper 
her  plan  into  his  ear.  He  sent  the  money  and  got  Mrs. 
Brown  as  far  as  Baltimore  on  her  journey  when  Brown 
heard  of  it  and  stopped  her  with  a  peremptory  command. 

The  determined  conspirator  then  worked  up  the  propo- 
sition to  buy  a  steam  tug  which  could  make  18  knots  an 
hour,  steam  up  the  James  River  to  Richmond,  kidnap  the 
Governor  of  the  Commonwealth,  Henry  Wise,  and  hold 
him  for  ransom  until  Brown  was  released.  The  scheme 
only  failed  for  the  lack  of  money. 

Higginson  had  seen  one  thing.  Brown  saw  a  bigger 
thing. 

Higginson's  refusal  to  flee  was  based  on  sound  psychol- 
ogy. He  knew  that  from  the  day  John  Brown  struck  his 
brutal  blow  at  the  heart  of  the  South  and  blood  had 
begun  to  flow,  the  Blood  Feud  would  be  the  biggest  living 
fact  in  the  Nation's  history. 

He  knew  that  he  could  remain  in  Worcester  with  impun- 
ity. The  strength  of  a  revolution  lies  in  the  fact  that  its 
first  bloodletting  releases  the  instincts  of  the  animal  in 
man  hitherto  restrained  by  law.  He  knew  that  Brown's 
cry  of  Liberty  for  the  slave  would  become  for  millions 
the  cloak  to  hide  the  archaic  impulse  to  kill.  He  knew 
that  while  the  purpose  of  civilization  is  to  restrain  and 
control  these  instincts  of  the  beast  in  man — it  was  too 
late  for  the  forces  of  Law  and  Order  to  rally  in  the  North. 
The  first  outbursts  of  indignation  against  Brown  would 
quickly  pass.  They  would  be  futile. 

He  read  them  with  a  smile.     The  New  York  Herald 


282 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

said:  "He  has  met  with  a  fate  which  he  courted,  but  his 
death  and  the  punishment  of  all  his  criminal  associates 
will  be  as  a  feather  in  the  balance  against  the  mischievous 
consequences  which  will  probably  follow  from  the  rekind- 
ling of  the  slavery  excitement  in  the  South." 

The  Tribune  tdok  the  lead  in  dismissing  the  act  as  the 
deed  of  a  madman.  The  Hartford  Evening  News  de- 
clared : 

"Brown  is  a  poor,  demented,  old  man.  The  calamity 
would  never  have  occurred  had  there  been  no  lawless  and 
criminal  invasion  of  Kansas." 

But  the  most  significant  utterance  in  the  North  came 
from  the  Pacifist  leader  of  Abolition,  William  Lloyd  Gar- 
rison, himself.  Higginson  read  it  with  a  cry  of  joy. 

The  Liberator's  words  of  comment  were  brief  but  sig- 
nificant of  the  coming  mob  mind : 

"The  particulars  of  a  misguided,  wild,  and  apparently 
insane,  through  disinterested  and  well-intended  effort  by 
insurrection,  to  emancipate  the  slaves  in  Virginia,  under 
the  leadership  of  Captain  John,  alias  'Osawatomie'  Brown, 
may  be  found  on  our  third  page.  Our  views  of  war  and 
bloodshed  even  in  the  best  of  causes,  are  too  well  known 
to  need  repeating  here ;  "but  let  no  one  who  glories  m  tJie 
revolutionary  struggle  of  1776,  deny  the  right  of  slaves 
to  imitate  the  example  of  our  fathers." 

Even  the  leader  of  the  movement  for  Abolition  by  peace- 
ful means  had  succumbed  to  the  poison  of  the  smell  of 
human  blood. 

Higginson  knew  that  the  process  of  a  revolution  was 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 283 

always  in  the  order  of  Ideas,  Leaders,  The  Mob,  The 
Tread  of  Armies.  For  thirty  years  Garrison  and  the 
Abolition  Crusaders  had  spread  the  Ideas.  The  Inspired 
Leader  had  at  last  appeared.  His  right  arm  had  struck 
the  first  blow.  He  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  coming  mob 
whose  impulse  to  murder  had  been  roused.  It  would  call 
their  ancestral  soul.  The  answer  was  a  certainty.  He 
could  see  no  necessity  for  Brown's  blood  to  be  spilled  in 
martyrdom. 

The  old  man,  walking  with  burning  eyes  toward  his 
trial,  knew  better.  His  vision  was  clear.  God  had  re- 
vealed His  full  purpose  at  last.  He  would  climb  a  Vir- 
ginia gallows  and  drag  millions  down  from  that  scaffold 
into  the  grave  with  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

NEVER  in  the  history  of  an  American  common- 
wealth was  a  trial  conducted  with  more  reverence 
for  Law  than  the  arraignment  of  John  Brown 
and  his  followers  in  the  stately  old  Court  House  at  Charles- 
town,  Virginia. 

The  people  whom  he  had  assaulted  with  intent  to  kill, 
the  people  against  whom  he  had  incited  slaves  to  rise  in 
bloody  insurrection,  the  kinsmen  of  the  dead  whom  his 
rifles  had  slain,  stood  in  line  on  the  street  and  watched 
him  pass  into  the  building  manacled  to  one  of  his  disciples. 
They  did  not  hoot,  nor  hiss,  nor  curse.  They  watched  him 
walk  in  silence  between  the  tall  granite  pillars  of  the  House 
of  Justice. 

The  behavior  of  this  crowd  was  highwater  mark  in  the 
development  of  Southern  character.  The  structure  of 
their  society  rested  on  the  sanctity  of  Law.  It  was  being 
put  to  the  supreme  test. 

A  Northern  crowd  under  similar  conditions,  had  they 
followed  the  principles  which  John  Brown  preached,  would 
have  torn  those  prisoners  to  pieces  without  the  formality 
of  a  trial. 

It  was  precisely  this  trait  of  character  in  his  enemies 
on  which  Brown  relied  for  the  martyrdom  he  so  passion- 
ately desired.  When  the  witnesses  at  the  preliminary  hear- 

284 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 285 

ing  had  testified  to  his  guilt  and  the  Court  had  ordered 
the  trial  set,  he  was  asked  if  he  had  counsel. 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  addressed  the  nation,  not 
the  Court: 

"Virginians,  I  did  not  ask  for  any  quarter  at  the  time 
I  was  taken.  I  did  not  ask  to  have  my  life  spared.  The 
Governor  of  the  State  of  Virginia  tenders  me  his  assur- 
ance that  I  shall  have  a  fair  trial,  but  under  no  circum- 
stances whatever  will  I  be  able  to  have  a  fair  trial.  If 
you  seek  my  blood,  you  can  have  it  at  any  moment,  without 
this  mockery  of  a  trial.  I  have  no  counsel.  I  am  ready 
for  my  fate.  I  do  not  wish  a  trial.  I  have  now  little 
further  to  ask,  other  than  that  I  may  not  be  foolishly 
insulted,  as  cowardly  barbarians  insult  those  who  fall  into 
their  power." 

The  posing  martyr  was  courting  insults  which  had  not 
been  offered  him.  He  was  grieved  that  he  could  not  bring 
the  charge  of  barbarous  treatment.  He  had  been  treated 
by  Colonel  Lee  with  the  utmost  consideration.  His  wounds 
had  been  dressed.  He  had  received  the  best  medical  care. 
He  had  eaten  wholesome  food.  His  jailor  had  proven 
friendly  and  sympathetic. 

He  went  out  of  his  way  to  insult  the  Court  and  the 
people  and  invite  abuse.  He  demanded  that  he  be  executed 
without  trial. 

The  Court  calmly  assigned  him  two  of  the  ablest  law- 
yers in  the  county,  and  ordered  the  trial  to  proceed. 

At  noon  the  following  day  the  Grand  Jury  returned  a 
true  bill  against  each  of  the  prisoners  for  treason  to  the 
commonwealth,  and  for  conspiring  with  slaves  to  commit 
both  treason  and  murder,  and  for  murder. 

Captain  Avis,  the  kindly  jailor,  was  ordered  to  bring 
his  prisoners  into  Court.  He  found  old  Brown  in  bed, 
pretending  to  be  ill.  He  refused  to  rise.  He  was  deter- 


286 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

mined  to  get  the  effect  of  an  arraignment  of  his  prostrate 
body  in  the  court  room.  He  had  foreseen  the  effect  of 
this  picture  on  the  imagination  of  the  North.  The  crowd 
of  eager  reporters  at  the  preliminary  hearing  had  given 
him  the  cue. 

He  was  carried  into  the  court  room  exactly  as  he  Had 
desired,  on  a  cot.  While  the  hearing  proceeded  he  lay 
with  his  eyes  closed  as  if  in  deep  suffering.  He  had  care- 
fully prepared  a  plea  for  delay  which  he  knew  would  not 
be  granted.  Its  effect  on  the  mob  mind  of  the  North  was 
what  he  sought.  The  press  would  give  it  wings. 

He  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow  and  asked  Judge  Parker 
to  allow  him  to  make  a  protest: 

"I  have  been  promised  a  fair  trial.  I  am  not  now  in 
circumstances  that  enable  me  to  attend  a  trial,  owing  to 
the  state  of  my  health.  I  have  a  severe  wound  in  the 
back,  or  rather  in  one  kidney  which  enfeebles  me  very 
much.  But  I  am  doing  well,  and  I  only  ask  for  a  very 
short  delay  of  my  trial,  that  I  may  be  able  to  listen  to  it ! 
And  I  merely  ask  this  that,  as  the  saying  is,  the  devil  may 
have  his  dues,  no  more.  I  wish  to  say  further  that  my 
bearing  is  impaired  by  wounds  I  have  about  my  head.  I 
could  not  hear  what  the  Court  said  this  morning.  I 
would  be  glad  to  hear  what  is  said  at  my  trial.  Any  short 
idelay  would  be  all  I  would  ask.  I  do  not  presume  to  ask 
more  than  a  very  short  delay  so  that  I  may  in  some  degree 
recover  and  be  able  at  least  to  listen  to  my  trial." 

Dr.  Mason  the  attending  physician,  swore  that  he  had 
examined  Brown,  and  that  his  wounds  had  effected  neither 
his  hearing  nor  his  mind.  He  further  swore  that  he  was 
not  seriously  disabled. 

Brown  knew  that  this  was  true,  but  he  had  entered  his 
plea.  His  words  would  flash  over  the  nation.  The  effect 
was  what  he  foresaw.  Although  he  had  defied  the  laws  of 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 287 

God  and  man,  he  dared  demand  more  than  justice  under 
the  laws  which  he  had  spit  upon.  And,  however  incon- 
sistent his  position,  he  knew  that  as  the  poison  of  the 
Blood  Feud  which  he  was  raising  filled  the  souls  of  the 
people  through  the  press,  he  would  be  glorified  from  day 
to  day  and  new  power  given  to  every  word  he  might  utter. 
He  had  already  composed  his  last  message  destined  to 
sway  the  minds  of  millions.  The  response  of  the  radical 
press  to  his  pose  of  illness  was  quick  and  sharp.  The 
Lawrence,  Kansas,  Republican  voiced  the  feelings  of  thou- 
sands : 

"We  defy  an  instance  to  be  shown  in  any  civilized  com- 
munity where  a  prisoner  has  been  forced  to  trial  for  his 
life,  when  so  disabled  by  sickness  or  ghastly  wounds  as  to 
be  unable  even  to  sit  up  during  the  proceedings,  and  com- 
pelled to  be  carried  to  the  judgment  hall  upon  a  litter. 
Such  a  proceeding  shames  the  name  of  Justice,  and  only 
finds  a  congenial  place  amid  the  records  of  the  bloody 
Inquisition." 

Even  so  conservative  a  paper  as  the  Boston  Transcript 
said: 

"Whatever  may  be  his  guilt  or  folly,  a  man  convicted 
under  such  circumstances,  and,  especially,  a  man  executed 
after  such  a  trial,  will  be  the  most  terrible  fruit  that  Slav- 
ery has  ever  borne,  and  will  excite  the  execration  of  the 
civilized  world." 

The  canny  old  poseur  was  on  his  way  to  an  immortal 
martyrdom.  He  knew  that  every  article  of  the  Virginia 
Code  was  being  scrupulously  obeyed.  He  knew  that  the 
Grand  Jury  was  in  session  and  that  the  trial  was  set  at 


288 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

the  first  term  of  the  court  following  the  crime.  There 
had  been  no  haste.  He  also  knew  that  the  impartial  Judge 
who  was  presiding  was  the  soul  of^  justice  in  his  dealings 
both  with  the  clamorous  people,  the  prosecution  and  the 
counsel  appointed  for  the  defense.  But  he  also  knew  that 
the  mob  mind  to  whom  he  was  appealing  would  not  believe 
that  he  knew  this.  In  appeals  to  the  crowd  he  was  a  past 
master.  In  this  appeal  he  knew  that  facts  would  count 
for  nothing — beliefs,  illusions  for  everything. 

He  played  each  opportunity  for  all  it  was  worth. 

When  the  Court  opened  the  following  morning,  his 
counsel,  Mr.  Botts,  amazed  the  prisoner  and  the  prosecu- 
tion by  reading  a  telegram  from  Ohio  asking  a  delay  on 
the  ground  that  important  affidavits  were  on  the  way  to 
prove  legally  that  John  Brown  was  insane.  Before  the 
old  man  could  stop  him  he  gave  to  the  Court  the  substance 
of  these  sworn  statements. 

His  friends  and  relatives  in  Ohio  had  sworn  that  Brown 
had  been  always  a  monomaniac  and  had  been  intermittently 
insane  for  twenty  years.  One  swore  that  he  had  been 
plainly  insane  for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  On  the  family 
record  of  insanity  the  affidavits  all  agreed.  ITis  grand- 
mother was  hopelessly  insane  for  six  years  am  died  in- 
sane. His  uncles  and  aunts,  two  sons  and  two  daughters 
had  been  intermittently  insane  for  years,  while  one  of  his 
daughters  had  died  a  hopeless  maniac.  His  only  sister, 
her  daughter  and  one  of  his  brothers  were  insane  at  inter- 
vals. Two  of  his  first  cousins  were  occasionally  mad. 
Two  had  been  committed  to  the  State  Insane  Asylum  re- 
peatedly and  two  others  were  at  that  time  in  close  re- 
straint. 

Brown  refused  to  allow  this  plea  to  be  entered.  He 
bitterly  denounced  the  counsel  assigned  to  him  as  traitors, 
and  at  their  request  the  following  day  they  were  allowed 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 289 

to  withdraw  from  the  case.  No  sooner  had  he  finished  his 
denunciation  of  his  counsel  than  Hoyt,  the  young  alleged 
attorney,  sent  by  Higginson  to  defend  him,  sprang  to  his 
feet  and  asked  a  delay,  as  he  was  unprepared  to  proceed 
without  assistance. 

The  Judge  adjourned  the  Court  until  the  following 
morning  at  ten  o'clock. 

The  young  spy  knew  nothing  of  law  but  he  bluffed  it 
through  until  the  arrival  of  two  able  attorne}^,  Samuel 
Chilton  of  Washington,  and  Hiram  Grismer  of  Cleveland. 

Botts,  the  dismissed  counsel,  who  had  sought  to  save 
Brown's  life  by  the  plea  of  insanity,  put  his  notes  and  his 
office  at  the  disposal  of  Hoyt  and  sat  up  all  night  with 
him  preparing  his  work  for  the  following  day. 

When  the  new  lawyers  appeared  the  old  man  made 
another  play  at  illness  to  gain  delay.  The  Court  ordered 
him  to  be  brought  in  on  his  cot.  Again,  the  physician 
swore  he  was  lying,  that  he  was  gaining  in  strength  daily. 
The  Judge,  however,  granted  a  delay  of  two  days. 

The  moment  the  order  was  issued  for  an  adjournment 
Brown  deliberately  rose  from  his  cot  and  walked  back  to 
jail. 

The  trial  was  closed  on  Monday  by  tKe  speeches  of  the 
prosecution  and  the  defense.  The  judge  charged  the  jury 
and  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour  they  filed  back  into  the 
jury  box. 

The  crowd  jammed  every  inch  of  space  in  the  old 
Court  House,  the  wide  entrance  hall,  and  overflowed  into 
the  street. 

The  foreman  solemnly  pronounced  him  guilty. 

The  old  man  merely  pulled  the  covers  of  his  cot  up  and 
stretched  his  legs,  as  if  he  had  no  interest  in  the  verdict. 
Entirely  recovered  from  every  effect  of  his  wounds,  as 
able  to  walk  as  ever,  he  had  refused  to  walk  and  had  been 


290 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

carried  again  into  the  court  room.  He  had  determined 
to  receive  his  sentence  on  a  bed.  He  knew  the  effect  of 
this  picture  on  the  gathering  mob. 

The  silence  of  death  fell  on  the  crowded  room.  Not  a 
single  cry  of  triumph  from  the  kindred  of  the  dead.  Not 
a  single  cheer  from  the  men  whose  wives  and  children  had 
been  saved  from  the  horrors  of  massacre. 

Chilton  made  his  motion  for  an  arrest  of  judgment  and 
the  judge  ordered  the  motion  to  stand  over  until  the  next 
day.  Brown  heard  the  arguments  the  following  day 
again  lying  on  his  cot.  The  judge  reserved  his  decision 
and  the  final  scene  of  the  drama  was  enacted  on  Novem- 
ber second. 

The  clerk  asked  John  Brown  if  he  had  anything  to  say 
concerning  why  sentence  should  not  be  pronounced  upon 
him. 

The  crowd  stared  as  they  saw  the  wiry  figure  of  the  old 
man  quickly  rise.  He  fixed  his  eagle  eye  on  them,  not  on 
the  judge. 

Over  their  heads  he  talked  to  the  gathering  mob  of  his 
countrymen.  Brown  had  been  a  habitual  liar  from  boy- 
hood. In  this  speech,  made  on  the  eve  of  the  sentence  of 
death,  he  lied  in  every  paragraph.  He  lied  as  he  had 
when  he  grew  a  beard  to  play  the  role  of  "Shubel  Mor- 
gan." He  lied  as  he  had  lied  to  his  victims  when  posing 
as  a  surveyor  on  the  Pottawattomie.  He  lied  as  he  had 
done  when  he  crept  through  the  darkness  of  the  night  on 
his  sleeping  prey.  He  lied  as  he  had  a  hundred  times 
about  those  gruesome  murders.  He  lied  for  his  Sacred 
Cause. 

He  lied  without  stint  and  without  reservation.  He  lied 
with  such  conviction  that  he  convinced  himself  in  the  end 
that  he  was  a  hero — a  martyr  of  human  liberty  and  prog- 
ress. And  that  he  was  telling  the  solemn  truth. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 291 

"I  have,  may  it  please  the  court,  a  few  words  to  say : 

"In  the  first  place  I  deny  everything  but  what  I  have 
already  admitted:  of  a  design  on  my  part  to  free  slaves. 
I  intended  certainly  to  have  made  a  clean  thing  of  that 
matter,  as  I  did  last  winter  when  I  went  into  Missouri 
and  there  took  slaves  without  the  snapping  of  a  gun  on 
either  side,  moving  them  through  the  country  and  finally 
leading  them  into  Canada.  I  designed  to  have  done  the 
thing  again  on  a  larger  scale.  That  was  all  I  intended. 
I  never  did  intend  murder  or  treason,  or  the  destruction 
of  property,  or  to  excite  or  to  incite  slaves  to  rebellion, 
or  to  make  insurrection. 

"Now,  if  it  is  deemed  necessary  that  I  should  forfeit 
my  life  for  the  furtherance  of  the  ends  of  justice,  and 
mingle  my  blood  further  with  the  blood  of  my  children — 
and  with  the  blood  of  millions  in  this  slave  country  whose 
rights  are  disregarded  by  wicked,  cruel  and  unjust  treat- 
ment— I  say  let  it  be  done." 

David  Cruise  was  not  there  to  tell  of  the  bullet  that 
crashed  through  his  heart  in  Missouri.  Frederick  Doug- 
las was  not  there  to  tell  that  he  abandoned  Brown  in  the 
old  stone  quarry  outside  Chambersburg,  precisely  because 
he  had  changed  the  plan  of  carrying  off  slaves  as  in  Mis- 
souri to  a  scheme  of  treason,  wholesale  murders  and  in- 
surrection. 

Cruise  was  in  his  grave  and  Douglas  on  his  way  to 
Europe.  There  was  no  one  to  contradict  his  statements. 
The  mob  mind  never  asks  for  facts.  It  asks  only  for  as- 
sertions. John  Brown  gave  them  what  he  knew  they 
wished  to  hear  and  believe. 

They  heard  and  they  believed. 

With  due  solemnity,  the  Judge  pronounced  the  sentence 
of  death  and  fixed  the  date  on  December  the  second,  thirty 
days  in  the  future. 


292 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

The  old  man's  eyes  flamed  with  hidden  fires  at  the  un- 
expected grant  of  a  month  in  which  to  complete  the  rais- 
ing of  the  Blood  Feud  so  gloriously  begun.  He  was  a 
master  in  the  coining  of  mystic  phrases  in  letters.  He 
gloried  in  religious  symbols.  Within  thirty  days  he  could 
work  with  his  pen  the  miracle  that  would  transform  a  na- 
tion into  the  puppets  of  his  will. 

He  walked  beside  the  jailor,  his  eyes  glittering,  his  head 
uplifted.  The  Judge  ordered  the  crowd  to  keep  their  seats 
until  the  prisoner  was  removed.  In  silence  he  marched 
through  the  throng  without  a  hiss  or  a  taunt. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  day  of  the  Great  Deed  was  one  never  to  be  for- 
gotten by  Cook's  little  bride.  They  had  been 
married  six  months.  Each  hour  had  bound  the  girl's 
heart  in  closer  and  sweeter  bonds.  The  love  that  kindled 
for  the  handsome  blond  the  day  of  their  first  meeting  had 
grown  into  the  deathless  passion  of  the  woman  for  her 
mate. 

He  was  restless  Saturday  night.  Through  the  long 
hours  she  held  her  breath  to  catch  his  regular  breathing. 
He  did  not  sleep. 

At  last  the  terror  of  it  gripped  her.  Her  hand  touched 
his  brow  and  brushed  the  hair  back  from  his  forehead. 

"What's  the  matter,  John  dear?" 

"Restless." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much.  Just  got  to  thinking  about  some- 
thing and  can't  sleep.  That's  all.  Go  to  sleep  now,  like 
a  good  girl.  I'm  all  right." 

The  little  fingers  sought  his  hand  and  gripped  it. 

"I'll  try." 

She  rose  at  dawn.  He  had  asked  an  early  breakfast  to 
make  a  long  trip  into  the  country. 

At  the  table  she  watched  him  furtively.  She  had  asked 
to  go  with  him  and  he  told  her  he  couldn't  take  her.  She 
wondered  why.  A  great  fear  began  to  steal  into  her  soul. 

293 


294 THE  MAN  IN  GEAY 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  dared  to  look  into  the  gulf. 
She  would  never  ask  his  secret.  He  must  tell  her  of  his 
own  free  will.  Her  eyes  searched  his.  And  he  turned  away 
without  an  answer. 

He  fought  for  self-control  when  he  kissed  her  goodbye. 
A  mad  desire  swept  his  heart  to  take  her  in  his  arms, 
perhaps  for  the  last  time. 

It  would  be  a  confession  at  the  moment  the  blow  was 
about  to  fall.  He  would  betray  the  lives  of  his  associ- 
ates. He  gripped  himself  and  left  her  with  a  careless 
smile. 

All  day  she  brooded  over  the  odd  parting,  the  constraint, 
the  silence,  the  sleepless  night. 

She  went  to  the  services  of  the  revival  and  sought  solace 
in  the  songs  and  prayers  of  the  people.  At  night  the 
minister  preached  a  sermon  that  soothed  her.  A  warm 
glow  filled  her  heart.  If  God  is  love  as  the  preacher  said, 
he  must  know  the  secrets  of  his  heart  and  life.  He  must 
watch  over  and  bring  her  lover  safely  back  to  her  arms. 

She  reached  home  at  a  quarter  to  ten  and  went  to  bed 
humming  an  old  song  Cook  had  taught  her.  The  tired 
body  was  ready  for  sleep.  She  did  not  expect  her  hus- 
band to  return  that  night.  He  had  gone  as  far  as  Cham- 
bersburg.  He  promised  to  come  on  Monday  afternoon. 

Through  the  early  hours  of  the  fatal  night  she  slept 
as  soundly  as  a  child. 

The  firing  at  the  Arsenal  between  three  and  four  o'clock 
waked  her.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  looked  out  the 
window.  The  street  lamps  flickered  fitfully  in  the  drizzling 
rain.  No  one  was  passing.  There  were  no  shouts,  no  dis- 
turbances. 

She  wondered  about  the  shots.  A  crowd  of  drunken 
fools  were  still  hanging  around  the  Gait  House  bar  per- 
haps. She  went  back  to  bed  and  slept  again. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  295 

It  was  eight  o'clock  before  the  crash  of  a  volley  from 
the  Arsenal  enclosure  roused  her.  She  leaped  to  her  feet, 
rushed  to  the  window  and  stood  trembling  as  volley  fol- 
lowed volley  in  a  long  rattle  of  rifle  and  shotgun  and 
pistol. 

A  neighbor  hurried  past  with  a  gun  in  his  hand.  She 
asked  him  what  the  fighting  meant. 

"Armed  Abolitionists  have  invaded  Virginia,"  he 
shouted. 

Still  it  meant  nothing  to  her  personally.  Her  husband 
was  not  an  Abolitionist.  She  had  known  him  for  more 
than  a  year.  She  had  been  with  him  day  and  night  for  six 
months  in  the  sweet  intimacy  of  home  and  love. 

And  then  the  hideous  truth  came  crashing  on  her  ter- 
ror-stricken soul.  Cook  had  been  recognized  by  a  neighbor 
as  he  drove  Colonel  Washington's  wagon  across  the  Mary- 
land bridge  at  dawn.  A  committee  of  citizens  came  to 
cross-examine  her. 

She  faced  them  with  blanched  cheeks. 

"My  husband,  an  Abolitionist !"  she  gasped. 

"He's  with  those  murderers  and  robbers." 

She  turned  on  the  men  like  a  young  tigress. 

"You're  lying— I  tell  you !" 

For  an  hour  they  tried  to  drag  from  her  a  confession 
of  his  plans.  They  left  at  last  convinced  that  she  knew 
nothing,  that  she  suspected  nothing  of  his  real  life.  She 
had  fought  them  bravely  to  the  last.  In  her  soul  of  souls 
she  knew  the  hideous  truth.  She  recalled  the  strange 
yearning  with  which  he  had  looked  at  her  as  he  left  Sun- 
day morning.  She  saw  the  bottom  of  the  gulf  at  last. 

With  a  cry  of  anguish  and  despair  she  sank  to  the  floor 
in  a  faint. 

She  stirred  with  one  thought  tearing  at  her  heart.  Had 
they  killed  or  captured  him?  She  rose,  dressed  and  joined 


296 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

the  crowd  that  surged  through  the  streets.  The  Rifle 
Works  had  been  captured,  Kagi  was  dead,  the  other  two 
wounded,  one  fatally,  the  other  a  prisoner.  No  trace  of 
her  husband  had  been  found.  He  had  not  reentered  the 
town  from  the  Maryland  side. 

She  walked  to  the  bridge  and  found  it  guarded  by  armed 
citizens.  Tears  of  joy  filled  her  eyes. 

"He  can't  get  back  now !"  she  breathed. 

She  hurried  to  her  room,  fell  on  her  knees  and  prayed: 

"Oh,  dear  Lord  Jesus,  I've  tried  to  be  a  good  and  faith- 
ful wife.  My  man  has  loved  me  tenderly  and  truly.  Save 
him,  oh,  Lord!  Don't  let  him  come  back  now  into  this 
den  of  howling  beasts.  They'll  tear  him  to  pieces.  And 
I  can't  endure  it.  I  can't.  I  can't.  Have  pity,  Lord. 
I'm  just  a  poor,  heart-broken  wife !" 

Through  six  days  of  terror  and  excitement,  of  surging 
crowds  and  marching  soldiers,  the  shivering  figure  watched 
through  her  window — and  silently  prayed.  A  guard  had 
been  set  at  her  house  to  catch  her  husband  if  he  dared  to 
return.  She  laughed  softly. 

He  would  not  return !  She  had  asked  God  not  to  let 
him.  She  was  asking  him  now  with  every  breath  she 
breathed.  God  would  not  forget  her.  He  would  answer 
her  prayers.  She  knew  it.  God  is  love. 

She  had  begun  to  sleep  again  at  night.  Her  man  was 
safe  in  the  mountains  of  Pennsylvania.  The  Governor  of 
Virginia  had  set  a  price  on  his  head.  Men  were  scouring 
the  hills  hunting,  as  they  hunt  wild  beasts,  but  God  would 
save  him.  She  had  seen  His  shining  face  in  prayer  and 
He  had  promised. 

And  then  the  blow  fell. 

Far  down  the  street  she  caught  the  roar  of  a  mob.  Its 
cries  came  faintly  at  first  and  then  they  grew  to  fierce 
oaths  and  brutal  shouts. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 297 

A  man  stopped  in  front  of  her  house  and  spoke  to  the 
guard. 

"They've  got  him !" 

"Who?" 

"Cook!" 

"The  damned  beast,  the  spy,  the  traitor!" 

"Where  are  they  takin'  him?" 

"To  the  jail  at  Charlestown." 

She  had  no  time  to  lose.  She  must  see  him.  Bare- 
headed she  rushed  into  the  street  and  fought  her  way  to 
his  side.  His  hands  were  manacled  but  his  fair  head  was 
held  erect  until  he  saw  the  white  face  of  his  bride.  And 
then  his  eyes  fell. 

Would  she,  too,  turn  and  curse  him? 

He  asked  himself  the  hideous  question  once  and  dared 
not  lift  his  head.  He  felt  her  coming  nearer.  The  guard 
halted.  His  eyes  were  blurred.  He  could  see  nothing. 

He  only  felt  two  soft  arms  slip  round  his  neck.  His 
own  moved  instinctively  to  clasp  her  but  the  manacles  held 
them.  She  kissed  his  lips  before  the  staring  crowd  and 
murmured  inarticulate  sounds  of  love  and  tenderness.  She 
smoothed  his  blond  hair  back  from  his  forehead  and 
crooned  over  him  as  a  mother  over  a  babe. 

"My  little  wife — my  poor  little  girlie — my  baby!"  he 
murmured.  "Forgive  me — I  tried  to  save  you  from  this. 
But  I  couldn't.  Love  would  have  it  so.  Now  you  can  for- 
get me !" 

The  arms  tightened  about  his  neck,  and  gave  the  answer 
lips  could  not  frame. 

When  his  trial  came  she  moved  to  Charlestown  to  sit  by 
his  side  in  the  prison  dock,  touch  his  manacled  hands  and 
look  into  his  eyes. 

The  trial  moved  to  its  certain  end  with  remorseless  cer- 
tainty. Cook's  sister,  the  wife  of  Governor  Willard,  sat 


298  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

beside  her  doomed  brother,  and  cheered  the  desolate  heart 
of  the  girl  he  had  married.  Governor  Willard  gave  the 
full  weight  of  his  position  and  his  sterling  manhood  to  his 
wife  in  her  grief. 

He  had  employed  the  best  lawyer  in  his  state  to  defend 
Cook — Daniel  W.  Vorhees,  whose  eloquence  had  given  him 
the  title  of  "The  Tall  Sycamore  of  the  Wabash." 

When  the  great  advocate  rose,  his  towering  figure  com- 
manded a  painful  silence  in  the  crowded  court  room.  The 
people,  who  packed  every  inch  of  its  space,  hated  the  man 
who  had  lived  among  them  for  more  than  a  year  as  a  spy. 
But  he  had  a  wife,  he  had  a  sister.  And  in  this  solemn 
hour  he  should  have  his  day  in  court.  The  crowd  listened 
to  Vorhees'  speech  with  rapt  attention. 

His  appeal  was  not  based  on  the  letter  of  the  law.  He 
took  broader,  higher  grounds.  He  sketched  the  dark  days 
of  blood-cursed  Kansas.  He  saw  a  handsome  prodigal  son, 
lured  by  the  spirit  of  adventure,  drawn  into  its  vortex  of 
blind  passions.  He  pictured  the  sinister  figure  of  the  grim 
Puritan  leader  condemned  to  death.  He  told  of  the  spell 
this  evil  mind  had  thrown  over  a  sensitive  boy's  soul.  He 
pleaded  for  mercy  and  forgiveness,  for  charity  and  divine 
love.  He  pictured  the  little  Virginia  girl  at  his  side  drawn 
into  the  tragedy  by  a  deathless  love.  He  sketched  in  words 
that  burned  into  the  souls  of  his  hearers  the  love  of  his 
sister,  a  love  big  and  tender  and  strong,  a  love  that  had 
followed  him  in  the  far  frontiers  with  prayers,  a  love  that 
encircled  him  in  the  darkness  of  deeds  of  violence  against 
the  forms  of  law  and  order.  He  pleaded  for  her  and  the 
distinguished  Governor  of  a  great  state,  not  because  of 
their  high  position  in  life  but  because  they  had  hearts  that 
could  ache  and  break. 

When  he  had  finished  his  remarkable  speech,  strong  men 
who  hated  Cook  were  sobbing.  The  room  was  bathed  in 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 299 

tears.  The  stern  visaged  judge  made  no  effort  to  hide 
his. 

The  court  charged  the  jury  to  do  impartial  justice 
under  the  laws  of  the  commonwealth. 

There  could  be  but  one  verdict.  It  was  solemnly  given 
by  the  foreman  and  the  judge  pronounced  the  sentence  of 
iJeath. 

Two  soft  arms  stole  around  the  doomed  man's  neck,  and 
then,  before  the  court,  crowd  and  God  as  witnesses,  the 
little  wife  tenderly  cried: 

"My  lover — my  sweetheart — my  husband — through  evil 
report  and  through  good  report,  through  life,  through 
death,  through  all  eternity — I — love — you!" 

Again  strong  men  wept  and  turned  from  one  another  to 
hide  the  signs  of  their  weakness. 

The  wife  walked  beside  her  doomed  lover  back  to  the 
jail.  As  they  went  through  the  narrow  passage  to  his 
cell,  the  tall,  rough-looking  prison  guard  who  accom- 
panied them  brushed  close,  caught  her  hand  and  pressed 
it. 

His  eyes  met  hers  in  a  quick  look  that  said  more  plainly 
than  words: 

"I  must  see  you  alone." 

She  waited  outside  the  jail  until  he  reappeared. 

He  approached  her  boldly  and  spoke  as  if  he  were  de- 
livering a  casual  message. 

"Keep  your  courage,  young  woman.  And  don't  you  be 
surprised  at  anything  I'm  going  to  say  to  you.  There's 
people  lookin'  at  us  now.  I'm  just  tellin'  you  a  message 
your  husband's  told  me — you  understand." 

"Yes — yes — go  on — I  understand,"  she  answered 
quickly. 

"I'm  from  Kansas.  I'm  a  friend  of  John  Cook's.  I 
come  all  the  way  here  to  help  him.  I  joined  these  guards 


300 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

to  get  to  him.  I'm  goin'  to  get  him  out  of  here  if  I 
can." 

"Thank  God — thank  God,"  she  murmured. 

"Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip  and  get  your  hand  on  some 
money  to  follow  us." 

"I  will." 

Another  guard  approached. 

"Leave  me  now.  My  name's  Charles  Lenhart.  Don't 
try  to  talk  to  me  again.  Just  watch  and  wait." 

She  nodded,  brushed  the  tears  from  her  eyes  and  left 
quickly. 

He  was  on  the  job  without  delay.  Cook  and  Edwin 
Coppoc,  condemned  to  die  on  the  same  day,  occupied  the 
same  room  in  jail.  They  borrowed  a  knife  from  Lenhart 
as  soon  as  he  came  on  duty  and  "forgot"  to  return  it. 
With  this  knife  they  worked  at  night  for  a  week  cutting  a 
hole  through  the  brick  wall.  Under  their  clothes  in  a 
corner  they  concealed  the  fragments  of  bricks. 

When  the  opening  had  been  completed,  they  cut  teeth  in 
the  knife  blade  and  made  a  small  saw  strong  and  keen 
enough  to  eat  through  a  link  in  their  shackles. 

On  the  night  fixed,  Lenhart  was  on  guard  waiting  in 
breathless  suspense  for  the  men  to  drop  the  few  feet  into 
the  prison  yard.  A  brick  wall  fifteen  feet  high  could  be 
scaled  from  his  shoulders  and  the  last  man  up  could  give 
him  a  lift. 

Through  the  long,  chill  hours  he  paced  his  beat  on  the 
wall  and  waited  to  hear  the  crunching  of  the  bodies  slip- 
ping through  the  walls. 

What  had  happened? 

Something  had  gone  wrong  in  the  impulsive  mind  of  the 
blue-eyed  adventurer  inside.  The  hole  was  open,  the  saw 
in  his  hand  to  cut  the  manacles,  when  he  suddenly  stopped. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Coppoc  asked. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 301 

"We  can't  do  this  to-night." 

"For  God's  sake,  why?" 

"My  sister's  in  town  with  Governor  Willard  to  tell  me 
goodbye.  They  will  put  the  blame  of  this  on  them.  My 
sister  might  be  imprisoned.  The  Governor  would  be  in 
bad.  I've  caused  them  trouble  enough — God  knows — " 

"When  are  they  going?" 

"To-morrow.  We'll  wait  until  to-morrow  night — after 
they've  gone." 

"But  Lenhart  may  not  be  on  guard." 

"That's  so,"  Cook  agreed.  "Coppoc,  you  can  go  alone. 
You'd  better  do  it." 

"No." 

"You'd  better." 

"I'm  not  made  out  of  that  sort  of  goods,"  the  boy  an- 
swered. 

"You've  got  a  good  old  Quaker  mother  out  in  Spring- 
dale  praying  for  you.  It's  your  chance — go — I  can't  to- 
night." 

Nothing  could  induce  Coppoc  to  desert  his  comrade  and 
leave  him  to  certain  death  when  his  escape  should  be 
known. 

They  replaced  the  bricks,  covered  the  debris  and  waited 
until  the  following  night. 

At  eleven  o'clock  they  cut  the  manacles  and  Coppoc 
crawled  out  first.  He  had  barely  touched  the  ground  when 
Cook  followed.  They  glanced  about  the  yard  and  it  was 
deserted.  They  strained  their  eyes  to  make  out  the  figure 
of  the  guard  who  passed  the  brick  wall.  He  was  not  in 
sight.  It  was  a  good  omen.  Lenhart  had  no  doubt  fore- 
seen their  escape  and  dropped  to  the  street  outside. 

They  saw  that  the  timbers  of  the  gallows  on  which  they 
were  to  die  had  not  all  been  fastened. 

They  secured  two  pieces  of  scantling  and  reached  the 


302 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

top  of  the  wall.  Suddenly  the  dark  figure  of  a  guard 
moved  toward  them.  Cook  called  the  signal  to  Lenhart. 
But  a  loyal  son  of  Virginia  stood  sentinel  that  night.  The 
answer  was  a  rifle  shot.  They  started  to  leap  and  caught 
the  flash  of  a  bayonet  below. 

They  walked  back  into  the  jail  and  surrendered  to  Cap- 
tain Avis,  their  friendly  keeper. 

The  little  wife  waited  and  watched  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

ALL  uncertainty  at  an  end  to  his  execution,  John 
Brown  set  his  hand  to  finish  the  work  of  his  life 
in  a  supreme  triumph.  He  entered  upon  the  task 
with  religious  joy.  The  old  Puritan  had  always  been  an 
habitual  writer  of  letters.  The  authorities  of  Virginia 
allowed  him  to  write  daily  to  his  friends  and  relatives. 
He  quickly  took  advantage  of  this  power.  The  sword  of 
Washington  which  he  grasped  on  that  fatal  Sunday  night 
had  proven  a  feeble  weapon.  He  seized  a  pen  destined  to 
slay  a  million  human  beings. 

His  soul  on  fire  with  the  fixed  idea  that  he  had  been 
ordained  by  God  to  drench  a  nation  in  blood,  he  joyfully 
began  the  task  of  creating  the  mob  mind. 

No  man  in  history  had  a  keener  appreciation  of  the 
power  of  the  daily  press  in  the  propaganda  of  crowd  ideas. 
The  daily  newspaper  had  just  blossomed  into  its  full 
radiance  in  the  modern  world.  No  invention  in  the  history 
of  the  race  has  equaled  the  cylinder  printing  press  as  an 
engine  for  creating  crowd  movements. 

The  daily  newspaper  of  1859  spoke  only  in  the  language 
of  crowds.  They  were,  in  fact,  so  many  mob  orators  har- 
ranguing  their  subscribers.  They  wrote  down  to  the 
standards  of  the  mob.  They  were  molders  of  public  opin- 
ion and  they  were  always  the  creatures  of  public  opinion. 
They  wrote  for  the  masses.  Their  columns  were  filled  with 

803 


304  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

their  own  peculiar  brand  of  propaganda,  illusions,  dreams, 
assertions,  prejudices,  sensations,  with  always  a  cheap 
smear  of  moral  platitude.  Our  people  had  grown  too  busy 
to  do  their  own  thinking.  The  daily  newspapers  now  did 
it  for  them.  There  was  as  little  originality  in  them  as  in 
the  machines  which  printed  the  editions.  Yet  they  were 
repeated  by  the  crowd  as  God-inspired  truth. 

We  no  longer  needed  to  seek  for  the  mob  in  the  streets. 
We  had  it  at  the  breakfast  table,  in  the  office,  in  the  count- 
ing room.  The  process  of  crowd  thinking  became  the  habit 
of  daily  life. 

John  Brown  hastened  to  use  this  engine  of  propaganda. 
From  his  comfortable  room  in  the  jail  at  Charlestown 
there  poured  a  daily  stream  of  letters  which  found  their 
way  into  print. 

A  perfect  specimen  of  his  art  was  the  concluding  para- 
graph of  a  letter  to  his  friend  and  fellow  conspirator, 
George  L.  Stearns  of  Boston. 

"I  have  asked  to  be  spared  from  having  any  mock  or 
hypocritical  prayers  made  over  me  when  I  am  publicly 
murdered;  and  that  my  only  religious  attendants  be  poor, 
little,  dirty,  ragged,  bareheaded  and  barefooted  slave  boys 
and  girls,  led  by  old,  gray-headed  slave  mothers" 

This  message  he  knew  would  reach  the  heart  of  every 
Abolitionist  of  the  North,  of  every  reader  of  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin.  On  the  day  of  his  transfiguration  on  the  scaffold 
he  would  deliver  the  final  word  that  would  sweep  these 
millions  into  the  whirlpool  of  the  Blood  Feud. 

To  his  wife  and  children  he  wrote  a  message  which  ham- 
mered again  his  fixed  idea  into  a  dogma  of  faith: 

"John  Rogers  wrote  to  his  children,  'Abhor  the  arrant 
whore  of  Rome.'  John  Brown  writes  to  his  children  to 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  305 

abhor  with  undying  hatred  also  the  'sura  of  all  villainies,' 
slavery." 

Not  only  did  these  daily  letters  find  their  way  into  the- 
hands  of  millions  through  the  press,  but  the  newspapers 
maintained  a  staff  of  reporters  at  Charlestown  to  catch 
every  whisper  from  the  prisoner.  So  brilliantly  did  these 
reports  visualize  his  daily  life  that  the  crowds  who  read 
them  could  hear  the  clanking  of  the  chains  as  he  walked 
and  the  groans  that  came  from  his  wounded  body. 

Thousands  of  letters  began  to  pour  into  the  office  of 
the  Governor  of  Virginia,  threatening,  imploring,  pleading 
for  his  life.  The  leading  politicians  of  all  parties  of  the 
North  were  at  length  swept  into  this  howling  mob  by  the 
press.  To  every  plea  the  Governor  of  the  Commonwealth 
replied  : 

"Southern  Society  is  built  on  Reverence  for  Law.  The 
Law  has  been  outraged  by  this  man.  It  shall  be  vindi- 
cated, though  the  heavens  fall." 

In  this  stand  he  was  immovable  and  the  South  backed 
him  to  a  man.  For  exciting  servile  insurrection  the  King 
of  Great  Britain  was  held  up  to  everlasting  scorn  by  our 
fathers  who  wrote  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  For 
this  crime  among  others  we  rebelled  and  established  the 
American  Republic.  Should  John  Brown  be  canonized 
for  the  same  infamy?  The  Southern  people  asked  this 
question  in  dumb  amazement  at  the  clamor  from  the  North. 

And  so  the  Day  of  Transfiguration  on  the  scaffold 
dawned. 

Judge  Thomas  Russell  and  his  good  wife  journeyed  all 
the  way  from  Boston  to  minister  to  the  wants  of  their 
strange  guest.  There  was  in  the  distinguished  jurist's 
mind  a  question  which  he  must  ask  Brown  before  the  rope 


306 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

should  strangle  him  forever.  His  martyrdom  had  cleared 
every  doubt  and  cloud  from  the  mind  of  his  friend  save 
one.  His  fascinating  letters,  filled  with  the  praise  of  God 
and  the  glory  of  a  martyr's  cause,  had  exalted  him. 

The  judge  had  heard  his  speech  in  court  on  the  day  he 
was  sentenced  to  death  and  had  believed  that  each  word 
was  inspired.  But  the  old  man,  who  was  now  to  die  in 
glory,  had  spent  a  week  in  Judge  Russell's  house  in  Boston 
hiding  from  a  deputy  sheriff  in  whose  hands  was  a  war- 
rant for  plain  murder — one  of  the  foulest  murders  in  the 
records  of  crime.  The  judge  was  a  student  of  character, 
as  well  as  Abolitionist. 

He  asked  Brown  for  his  last  confidential  statement  as 
to  these  crimes  on  the  Pottawattomie.  There  was  no  hesi- 
tation in  his  bold  reply.  Standing  beneath  the  shadow  of 
the  gallows,  the  white  hand  of  Death  on  his  stooped  shoul- 
ders, one  foot  on  earth  and  the  other  pressing  the  shores 
of  eternity,  he  lied  as  brazenly  as  he  had  lied  a  hundred 
times  before.  He  assured  his  friend  and  his  wife  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  with  those  killings. 

Mrs.  Russell,  weeping,  kissed  him. 

And  Brown  said  calmly :  "Now,  go." 

As  he  ascended  the  scaffold  he  handed  to  one  who  stood 
near  his  final  message,  the  supreme  utterance  over  which 
he  had  prayed  day  and  night  to  his  God.  Despatched 
from  the  scaffold,  and  sealed  by  his  blood,  he  knew  that  its 
magic  words  would  spread  by  contagion  the  Red  Thought. 

His  face  shone  with  the  glory  of  his  hope  as  his  feet 
climbed  the  scaffold  steps.  On  the  scrap  of  paper  he  had 
written : 

"I,  JOHN  BROWN,  AM  NOW  QUITE  CERTAIN  THAT  THB 

CRIMES  OF  THIS  GUILTY  LAND  WILL  NEVER  BE  PURGED 
AWAY  BUT  WITH  BLOOD." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  307 

The  trap  fell,  his  darkened  soul  swung  into  eternity 
and  the  deed  was  done.  He  had  raised  the  Blood  Feud  to 
the  nth  power.  His  message  thrilled  the  world. 

Bells  were  tolling  in  the  North  while  crowds  of  weeping 
men  and  women  knelt  in  prayer  to  his  God.  Had  they  but 
lifted  the  veil  and  looked,  they  would  have  seen  the  face 
of  a  fiend.  But  their  eyes  were  now  blinded  with  the  mad- 
ness which  had  driven  him  to  his  death. 

In  Cleveland,  Melodeon  Hall  was  draped  in  mourning  at 
a  meeting  where  thousands  wept  and  cursed  and  prayed. 
Mammoth  gatherings  were  held  in  New  York,  in  Roches- 
ter and  Syracuse.  In  Boston  a  crowd,  so  dense  they  were 
lifted  from  their  feet  by  the  pressure  of  thousands  be- 
hind, clamoring  for  entrance,  rushed  into  Tremont  Tem- 
ple. 

William  Lloyd  Garrison,  the  Pacifist,  declared  the  meet- 
ing was  called  to  witness  John  Brown's  resurrection.  He 
flung  the  last  shred  of  principle  to  the  winds  and  joined 
the  mob  of  the  Blood  Feud  without  reservation. 

"As  a  peace  man — an  ultra  peace  man — I  am  prepared 
to  say:  'Success  to  every  Slave  Insurrection  in  the  South 
and  in  every  Slave  Country !' ' 

Wendell  Phillips,  believing  Judge  Russell's  report  of 
Brown's  denial  of  the  Pottawattomie  murders,  declared  to 
the  thousands  who  crowded  Cooper  Union  that  John 
Brown  was  a  Saint — that  he  was  not  on  the  Pottawatto- 
mie Creek  on  that  fateful  night,  that  he  was  not  within 
twenty-five  miles  of  the  spot ! 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  ignorant  of  the  truth  of  Potta- 
wattomie, hailed  Brown  as  "the  new  Saint,  than  whom 
none  purer  or  more  brave  was  ever  led  by  love  of  men  into 
conflict  and  death — the  new  Saint  who  has  achieved  his 
martyrdom  and  will  make  the  gallows  glorious  as  the 
cross." 


308 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

One  great  spirit  among  the  anti-slavery  forces  refused 
to  be  swept  in  the  current  of  insanity.  Abraham  Lincoln 
at  Troy,  Kansas,  said  on  the  day  of  Brown's  death : 

"Old  John  Brown  has  been  executed  for  treason  against 
a  State.  We  cannot  object,  even  though  he  agreed  with 
us  in  thinking  Slavery  wrong.  That  cannot  excuse  vio- 
lence, bloodshed  and  treason.  It  could  avail  him  nothing 
that  he  might  think  himself  right." 

Lincoln's  voice  was  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the  mob. 

John  Brown  from  the  scaffold  had  set  in  motion  forces 
of  mind  be}rond  control.  Never  before  had  men  so  little 
grasped  the  present,  so  stupidly  ignored  the  past,  so 
poorly  divined  the  future.  Reason  had  been  hurled  from 
her  throne.  Man  had  ceased  to  think. 

Had  Lieutenant  Green's  sword  pierced  Brown's  heart  he 
would  have  died  the  death  of  a  mad  dog.  His  imprison- 
ment, his  carefully  staged  martyrdom,  his  message  of 
blood,  and  final,  just  execution  by  Law  created  the  mob 
mind  which  destroyed  reverence  for  Law. 

As  he  swung  from  the  gallows  and  his  body  swayed  for 
a  moment  between  heaven  and  earth  Colonel  Preston, 
standing  beside  the  steps,  solemnly  cried: 

"So  perish  all  such  enemies  of  Virginia !  All  such  ene- 
mies of  the  Union !  All  such  foes  of  the  human  race !" 

Yet  even  as  the  trap  was  sprung,  in  the  Capitol  of  the 
greatest  State  of  the  North,  the  leaders  of  the  crowd  were 
firing  a  hundred  guns  as  a  dirge  for  their  martyr  hero. 

A  criminal  paranoiac  had  become  the  leader  of  twenty 
millions  of  people.  The  mob  mind  had  caught  the  disease 
of  his  insanity  and  a  nation  began  to  go  mad. 

Robert  E.  Lee,  in  command  of  the  forces  of  Law  and 
Order,  watched  the  swaying  ghostly  figure  with  a  sense 
of  deep  foreboding  for  the  future. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

JOHN  BROWN'S  body  lay  moldering  in  the  grave  but 
his  soul  was  marching  on.  And  his  soul  was  a  thou- 
sand times  mightier  than  his  body  had  ever  been. 

While  living,  his  abnormal  mind  repelled  men  of  strong 
personality.  He  had  never  been  able  to  control  more 
than  two  dozen  people  in  any  enterprise  which  he  under- 
took. And  in  these  small  bands  rebellions  always  broke 
out. 

The  paranoiac  had  been  transfigured  now  into  the  Hero 
and  the  Saint  through  the  worship  of  the  mob  which  his 
insanity  had  created.  His  apparent  strength  of  char- 
acter was  in  reality  weakness,  an  incapacity  to  master 
himself  or  control  his  criminal  impulses.  But  the  Jacobin 
mind  of  his  followers  did  not  consider  realities.  They 
only  cherished  dreams,  illusions,  assertions.  The  mob 
never  reasons.  It  only  believes.  Reason  is  submerged  in 
passion. 

John  Brown  was  a  typical  Jacobin  leader.  He  was 
first  and  last  a  Puritan  mystic.  The  God  he  worshiped 
was  a  fiend,  but  he  worshipped  Him  with  all  the  more  pas- 
sionate devotion  for  that  reason.  When  he  committed 
murder  on  the  Pottawattomie  he  stalked  his  prey  as  a 
panther.  He  sang  praises  to  his  God  as  he  paused  in  the 
brush  before  he  sprang.  His  narrow  mind,  with  a  single 

309 


310  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

fixed  idea,  was  inaccessible  to  any  influences  save  those 
which  fed  his  mania.  Nothing  could  loose  the  grip  of 
his  soul  on  this  dream.  He  closed  his  glittering  eyes  and 
refused  to  consider  anything  that  might  contradict  his 
faith. 

He  acted  without  reason,  driven  blindly  forward  by  an 
jmpulse.  When  his  cunning  mind  used  reason  it  was  never 
for  the  purpose  of  finding  truth.  It  was  only  for  the 
purpose  of  confounding  his  enemies.  He  never  used  it  as 
a  guide  to  conduct. 

By  the  magic  of  mental  contagion  he  had  transferred 
from  the  scaffold  this  Jacobin  mind  to  the  soul  of  a  na- 
tion. The  contact  of  persons  is  not  necessary  to  transfer 
this  disease.  Its  contagion  is  electric.  It  moves  in  subtle 
thought  waves,  as  a  mysterious  pestilence  spreads  in  the 
night.  The  mob  mind,  once  formed,  is  a  new  creation  and 
becomes  with  amazing  rapidity  a  resistless  force.  The 
reason  for  its  uncanny  power  lies  in  the  fact  that  when 
once  formed  it  is  dominated  by  the  unconscious,  not  the 
conscious  forces,  of  man's  nature.  Its  credulity  is  bound- 
less. Its  passions  dominate  all  life.  The  records  of  his-- 
tory  are  a  sealed  book.  Experience  does  not  exist. 

Impulse  rules  the  universe. 

And  this  mob  mind  moves  always  as  a  unit.  It  de- 
vours individuality.  Men  who  as  individuals  may  be  gen- 
tle and  humane  are  swept  into  accord  with  the  most  beastly 
cry  of  the  crowd.  This  mental  unity  grows  out  of  the 
crushing  power  of  contagion.  Gestures,  cries,  deeds  of 
hate  and  fury  are  caught,  approved,  repeated. 

Any  lie  can  be  built  into  a  religion  if  repeated  often 
enough  to  a  crowd  by  a  mind  on  fire  with  its  passions. 
Pirates  have  died  as  bravely  as  John  Brown.  The  glori- 
fication of  the  manner  of  his  dying  was  merely  a  phenome- 
non of  the  unity  of  the  crowd  mind.  It  was  precisely  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 311 

grip  of  his  Puritan  mysticism,  his  worship  of  the  Devil, 
that  gave  to  his  insanity  its  most  dangerous  appeal. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  republic  the 
mob  mind  had  mastered  the  collective  soul  of  its  people. 
The  contagion  had  spread  both  North  and  South.  In  the 
North  by  sympathy,  in  the  South  by  a  process  of  reaction 
even  more  violent  and  destructive  of  reason. 

John  Brown  had  realized  his  vision  of  the  Plains.  He 
had  raised  a  National  Blood  Feud. 

No  hand  could  stay  the  scourge.  The  Red  Thought 
burst  into  a  flame  that  swept  North  and  South,  as  a 
prairie  fire  sweeps  the  stubble  of  autumn.  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin  had  prepared  the  stubble. 

From  the  Northern  press  began  to  pour  a  stream  of  vin- 
dictive abuse.  A  fair  specimen  of  this  insanity  appeared 
in  the  New  York  Independent  : 

"The  mass  of  the  population  of  the  Atlantic  Coast  of 
the  slave  region  of  the  South  are  descended  from  the  trans- 
ported convicts  and  outcasts  of  Great  Britain.  Oh,  glori- 
ous chivalry  and  hereditary  aristocracy  of  the  South! 
Peerless  first  families  of  Virginia  and  Carolina !  Progeny 
of  the  highwaymen,  the  horse  thieves  and  sheep  stealers 
and  pickpockets  of  Old  England !" 

The  fact  that  this  paper  was  a  religious  publication, 
the  outgrowth  of  the  New  England  conscience,  gave  its 
columns  a  peculiar  power  over  the  Northern  mind. 

The  South  retorted  in  kind.    De  Bow's  Review  declared : 

"The  basic  framework  and  controlling  inference  of 
Northern  sentiment  is  Puritanic,  the  old  Roundhead  rebel 
refuse  of  England,  which  has  ever  been  an  unruly  sect  of 
Pharisees,  the  worst  bigots  on  earth  and  the  meanest 
tyrants  when  they  have  the  power  to  exercise  it." 


312 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

When  the  Conventions  met  a  few  months  later  to  name 
candidates  for  the  Presidency  and  make  a  declaration  of 
principles,  leaders  had  ceased  to  lead  and  there  were  no 
principles  to  declare. 

The  mob  mind  was  supreme. 

The  Democratic  Convention  met  at  Charleston,  South 
Carolina,  to  name  the  successor  of  James  Buchanan. 
Their  constituents  commanded  a  vast  majority  of  the 
voters  of  the  Nation.  The  Convention  became  a  mob. 
The  one  man,  the  one  giant  leader  left  in  the  republic,  the 
one  constructive  mind,  the  one  man  of  political  genius 
who  could  have  saved  the  nation  from  the  holocaust  to- 
ward which  it  was  plunging  was  Stephen  A.  Douglas  of 
Illinois.  He  could  have  been  elected  President  by  an  over- 
whelming majority  had  he  been  nominated  by  this  united 
convention.  He  was  entitled  to  the  nomination.  He  had 
proven  himself  a  statesman  of  the  highest  rank.  He  had 
proven  himself  impervious  to  sectional  hatred  or  sectional 
appeal.  He  was  a  Northern  man,  but  a  friend  of  the 
South  as  well  as  the  North.  He  was  an  American  of  the 
noblest  type. 

But  the  radical  wing  of  his  party  in  the  South  were 
seeing  Red.  Old  Brown's  words  to  them  meant  the  spirit 
of  the  North.  They  heard  echoing  and  reechoing  from 
every  newspaper  and  pulpit: 

"I,  JOHN  BROWN,  AM  NOW  QUITE  CERTAIN  THAT  THE 

CRIMES     OF    THIS     GUILTY    LAND    WILL    NEVER    BE    PURGED 
AWAY   BUT  WITH    BLOOD." 

If  the  hour  for  bloodshed  had  come  they  demanded  that 
the  South  prepare  without  further  words.  And  they  be- 
lieved that  the  hour  had  come.  They  heard  the  tread  of 
swarming  hosts.  They  were  eager  to  meet  them. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  313 

Reason  was  flung  to  the  winds.  Passion  ruled.  Com- 
promise was  a  thing  beyond  discussion.  Douglas  was  a 
Northern  man  and  they  would  have  none  of  him.  He  was 
hooted  and  catcalled  until  he  was  compelled  to  withdraw 
from  the  Convention. 

The  radical  South  named  their  own  candidate  for  Presi- 
dent. He  couldn't  be  elected.  No  matter.  War  was  in- 
evitable. 

Let  it  come. 

The  Northern  Democratic  Convention  named  Douglas 
for  President.  He  couldn't  be  elected.  No  matter.  War 
was  inevitable.  Let  it  come. 

In  dumb  amazement  at  the  tragedy  approaching — the 
tragedy  of  a  divided  Union  and  a  bloody  civil  war — the 
Union  men  of  the  party  nominated  a  third  ticket,  Bell  of 
Tennessee  and  Everett  of  Massachusetts.  They  couldn't 
be  elected.  No  matter.  War  was  inevitable.  It  had  to 
come.  They  would  stand  by  their  principles  and  go  down 
with  them. 

When  the  new  Republican  party  met  at  Chicago  they 
were  sobered  by  the  responsibility  suddenly  thrust  upon 
them  of  naming  the  next  President  of  the  United  States. 
Fremont,  a  mere  figurehead  as  their  candidate,  had  polled 
a  million  votes  in  the  campaign  before.  With  three  Demo- 
cratic tickets  in  the  field,  success  was  sure. 

They  wrote  a  conservative  platform  and  named  for 
their  candidate  Abraham  Lincoln,  the  one  man  in  their 
party  who  had  denounced  John  Brown's  deeds,  the  man 
who  had  declared  in  his  debates  with  Douglas  that  he  did 
not  believe  in  making  negroes  voters  or  jurors,  that  he  did 
not  believe  in  the  equality  of  the  races,  that  he  did  not 
believe  that  two  such  races  could  ever  live  together  in  a 
Democracy  on  terms  of  political  or  social  equality. 

Their  candidate  was  the  gentlest,  broadest,  sanest  man 


314 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

within  their  ranks.  Unless  the  nation  had  already  gone 
mad  they  felt  that  in  his  triumph  they  would  be  safe  from 
the  Red  Menace  which  stalked  through  their  crowded  hall. 
Their  radical  leaders  were  furious.  But  they  were  com- 
pelled to  submit  and  fight  for  his  election.  The  life  of 
their  party  depended  on  it.  Their  own  life  was  bound  up 
in  their  party. 

There  was  really  but  one  issue  before  the  nation — peace 
or  war.  The  new  party,  both  in  its  candidate  and  its 
platform,  sought  with  all  its  power  to  stem  the  Red  Tide 
of  the  Blood  Feud  which  John  Brown  had  raised. 

Their  well-meant  efforts  came  too  late. 

War  is  a  condition  of  mind  primarily.  Its  causes  are 
always  psychological — not  physical.  The  result  of  this 
state  of  mind  is  an  abnormal  condition  of  the  nervous 
system,  in  which  the  thoughts  and  acts  of  men  are  con- 
trolled by  the  collective  mind — the  mob  mind.  Indians  exe- 
cute their  war  dances  for  days  and  nights  to  produce  this 
mental  state.  Once  it  had  been  created,  the  war  cry  alone 
can  be  heard. 

This  mind,  once  formed,  deliberative  bodies  cease  to  ex- 
ist. The  Congress  of  the  United  States  ceased  to  exist  as 
a  deliberative  body  at  the  session  which  followed  John 
Brown's  execution. 

The  atmosphere  of  both  the  Senate  and  the  House  was 
electric  with  hatred  and  passion.  Men  who  met  at  the  last 
session  as  friends,  now  glared  into  each  other's  faces,  mor- 
tal enemies. 

L.  Q.  C.  Lamar,  the  young  statesman  from  Mississippi, 
threw  a  firebrand  into  the  House  on  the  day  of  its  open- 
ing. 

"The  Republicans  of  this  House  are  not  guiltless  of 
the  blood  of  John  Brown,  his  conspirators,  and  the  inno- 
cent victims  of  his  ruthless  vengeance." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 315 

Keitt  of  South  Carolina  shouted: 

"The  South  asks  nothing  but  her  rights.  I  would  have 
no  more,  but  as  God  is  my  judge  I  would  shatter  this  re- 
public from  turret  to  foundation  stone  before  I  would  take 
a  little  less !" 

Old  Thaddeus  Stevens  of  Pennsylvania  scrambled  up  on 
his  club  foot  and  with  a  face  flaming  with  scorn  replied: 

"I  do  not  blame  gentlemen  of  the  South  for  using  this 
threat  of  rending  God's  creation  from  foundation  to  tur- 
ret. They  have  tried  it  fifty  times,  and  fifty  times  they 
have  found  weak  and  recreant  tremblers  in  the  North  who 
have  been  affected  by  it,  and  who  have  retreated  before 
these  intimidations." 

He  turned  to  the  group  of  conservative  members  of  his 
own  party  with  a  look  of  triumphant  taunting.  He 
wanted  war.  He  courted  it.  He  saw  its  coming  with  a 
shout  of  joy. 

The  House  was  in  an  uproar.  Members  leaped  from 
their  seats  and  jammed  the  aisles,  shouting,  cheering,  hiss- 
ing, catcalling.  The  clerk  was  powerless  to  preserve 
order. 

For  two  months  the  bedlam  continued  while  they  voted 
in  vain  to  elect  a  Speaker.  The  new  party  was  determined 
to  have  John  Sherman.  The  opposition  was  divided  but 
finally  chose  Mr.  Pennington,  a  moderate  of  mediocre 
ability. 

During  these  eight  weeks  of  senseless  wrangling  the 
members  began  to  arm  themselves  with  revolvers.  One  of 
the  weapons  dropped  from  the  pocket  of  a  member  from 
New  York  and  he  was  accused  of  attempting  to  draw  it 
for  use  against  an  opponent. 

The  sergeant  at  arms  was  summoned  and  pandemonium 
broke  loose.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  that  a  pitched  battle 
before  the  dais  of  the  Speaker  was  inevitable. 


316 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

John  Sherman  rose  and  made  a  remarkable  statement — 
remarkable  in  showing  how  the  mob  mind  will  inevitably 
(destroy  the  mind  of  the  individual  until  its  unity  is  un- 
disputed. He  spoke  in  tones  of  reconciliation. 

"When  I  came  here  I  did  not  believe  that  the  Slavery 
question  would  come  up ;  and  but  for  the  unfortunate 
affair  of  Brown's  at  Harper's  Ferry  I  do  not  believe  that 
there  would  have  been  any  feeling  on  the  subject.  North- 
ern members  came  here  with  kindly  feelings,  no  man  ap- 
proving of  the  deed  of  John  Brown,  and  every  man  willing 
to  say  so,  every  man  willing  to  admit  it  an  act  of  lawless 
violence." 

It  was  true.  And  yet  before  that  mad  session  closed 
they  were  Brown's  disciples  and  he  had  become  their  mar- 
tyr here.  The  mob  mind  devours  individuality,  and  re- 
duces all  to  the  common  denominator  of  the  archaic  im- 
pulse. 

In  the  fierce  conflict  for  Speaker  four  years  before, 
when  Banks  had  been  chosen,  Slavery  was  then  the  issue. 
Good  humor,  courtesy  and  reason  ruled  the  contest  which 
lasted  three  days  longer  than  the  fight  over  Sherman. 
Instead  of  courtesy  and  reason — hatred,  passion,  defiance, 
assertion  were  now  the  order  of  the  day.  Four  years  be- 
fore a  threat  of  disunion  was  made  on  the  floor.  The 
House  received  it  with  shouts  of  derision  and  laughter. 
Keitt's  dramatic  threat  had  thrown  the  House  into  an  up- 
roar which  had  to  be  quelled  by  the  sergeant  at  arms. 
Envy,  hate,  jealousy,  spite,  passion  were  supreme.  The 
favorite  epithets  hurled  across  the  Chamber  were: 

"Slave  driver!" 

"Nigger  thief !" 

The  newspapers  no  longer  reported  speeches  as  deliv- 
ered. They  were  revised  and  raised  to  greater  powers  of 
vituperation  and  abuse.  Instead  of  a  convincing,  logical 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


speech,  their  champion  hurled  a  "torrent  of  scathing  de- 
nunciation," "withering  sarcasm,"  and  "crushing  invec- 
tive !" 

At  this  historic  session  appeared  the  first  suit  of  Con- 
federate Gray,  worn  by  Roger  A.  Pryor,  the  brilliant 
young  member  from  Virginia. 

Immediately  a  Northern  member  leaped  to  his  feet. 
He  had  caught  the  significance  of  the  Southern  emblem. 
He  gave  a  moment's  silent  survey  to  the  gray  suit  and 
opened  his  address  on  the  State  of  the  Country  by  say- 
ing: 

"Virginia,  instead  of  clothing  herself  in  sheep's  wool, 
had  better  don  her  appropriate  garb  of  sackcloth  and 
ashes !" 

The  nation  was  already  at  war  before  Abraham  Lin- 
coln left  Springfield  for  Washington  to  take  his  seat  as 
President.  It  was  deemed  wise  that  he  should  enter  the 
city  practically  in  disguise. 

In  vain  the  great  heart  that  beat  within  his  lonely  breast 
tried  to  stem  the  Red  Tide  in  his  first  inaugural.  With 
infinite  pathos  he  turned  toward  the  South  and  spoke  his 
words  of  peace,  reconciliation  and  assurance: 

"I  have  no  purpose  directly  or  indirectly  to  interfere 
with  the  institution  of  Slavery  in  the  States  where  it  ex- 
ists. I  believe  I  have  no  lawful  right  to  do  so,  and  I  have 
no  inclination  to  do  so." 

His  closing  sentences  were  spoken  with  his  deep  eyes 
swimming  in  tears. 

"I  am  loath  to  close.  We  are  not  enemies  but  friends. 
We  must  not  be  enemies.  Though  passion  may  have 
strained,  it  must  not  break  our  bonds  of  affection.  The 
mystic  chords  of  memory,  stretching  from  every  battle- 
field and  patriot  grave,  to  every  living  heart  and  herirth- 
stone  all  over  this  broad  land,  will  yet  swell  the  chorus 


318 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

of  the  Union  when  again  touched,  as  surely  they  will  be, 
by  the  better  angels  of  our  nature." 

The  noblest  men  of  North  and  South  joined  with  the 
new  President,  pleading  for  peace.  They  knew  by  the  light 
of  reason  that  a  war  of  brothers  would  be  a  wanton  crime. 
They  proved  by  irresistible  logic  that  every  issue  dividing 
the  nation  could  be  settled  at  the  Council  Table. 

They  pleaded  in  vain.  They  pitched  straws  against  a 
hurricane.  From  the  deep,  subconscious  nature  of  man, 
the  lair  of  the  beast,  came  only  the  growl  of  challenge  to 
mortal  combat. 

The  new  President  is  but  a  leaf  tossed  by  the  wind.  The 
Union  of  which  our  fathers  dreamed  is  rent  in  twain. 
With  tumult  and  shout,  the  armies  gather,  blue  and  gray, 
brother  against  brother.  A  madman's  soul  now  rides  the 
storm  and  leads  the  serried  lines  as  they  sweep  to  the  red 
rendezvous  with  Death. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

A  LITTLE  mother  with  a  laughing  boy  two  years 
old  and  baby  in  her  arms  was  awaiting  at  a 
crowded  hotel  in  Washington  the  coming  of  her 
father  from  the  Western  plains.  Her  men  were  going  in 
opposite  directions  in  these  tragic  days  that  were  trying 
the  souls  of  men.  Colonel  Phillip  St.  George  Cooke  was 
a  Virginian.  Lieutenant  J.  E.  B.  Stuart  was  a  Virginian. 
The  soul  of  the  little  mother  was  worn  out  with  the  ques- 
tion that  had  no  answer.  Why  should  her  lover-husband 
and  her  fine  old  daddy  fight  each  other? 

She  stood  appalled  before  such  a  conflict.  She  had 
written  to  her  father  a  letter  so  gentle,  so  full  of  tender 
appeal,  he  could  not  resist  its  call.  She  had  asked  that 
he  come  to  see  her  babies  and  her  husband  and,  face  to 
face,  say  the  things  that  were  in  his  heart. 

Her  own  sympathies  were  with  her  husband.  He  had 
breathed  his  soul  into  hers.  She  thought  as  he  thought 
and  felt  as  he  felt.  But  her  dear  old  daddy  must  have 
deep  reasons  for  refusing  to  follow  Virginia,  if  she  should 
go  with  the  South  in  Secession.  She  must  hear  these  rea- 
sons. Stuart  must  hear  them.  If  he  could  convince  them, 
they  would  go  with  him. 

In  her  girl's  soul  she  didn't  care  which  way  they  went, 
as  long  as  they  did  not  fight  each  other.  She  had  watched 
the  shadow  of  this  war  deepen  with  growing  anguish.  If 

319 


320 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

her  father  should  meet  her  husband  in  battle  and  one 
should  kill  the  other !  How  could  she  live  ?  The  thought 
was  too  horrible  to  frame  in  words,  but  it  haunted  her 
iJreams.  She  couldn't  shake  it  off. 

That  her  rollicking  soldier  man  would  come  out  alive 
she  felt  sure  somehow.  No  other  thought  was  possible. 
To  think  that  he  might  be  killed  in  the  pride  and  glory 
of  his  youth  was  nonsense.  Her  mind  refused  now  to 
dwell  on  the  idea.  She  dismissed  it  with  a  laugh.  He  was 
so  vital.  He  lived  to  his  finger  tips.  His  voice  rang  with 
the  joy  of  living.  The  spirit  of  eternal  youth  danced  in 
his  blue  eyes.  He  was  just  twenty-eight  years  old.  He 
was  the  father  of  a  darling  boy  who  bore  his  name  and  a 
baby  that  nestled  in  her  arms  to  whom  they  had  given 
hers. 

Life  in  its  morning  of  glory  was  his — wife,  babies,  love, 
youth,  health,  strength,  clean  living  and  high  thinking. 
No,  it  was  the  thought  of  harm  to  her  father  that  was  eat- 
ing her  heart  out.  He  has  passed  the  noon-tide  of  life. 
His  slender,  graceful  form  lacked  the  sturdy  power  of 
youth.  His  chances  were  not  so  good. 

The  thing  that  sickened  her  was  the  certainty  that  both 
these  men,  father  and  husband,  would  organize  the  cavalry 
service  and  fight  on  horseback.  They  had  spent  their 
honeymoon  on  the  plains.  She  had  ridden  over  them  with 
her  joyous  lover. 

He  would  be  a  cavalry  commander.  She  knew  that  he 
would  be  a  general.  Her  father  was  a  master  of  cavalry 
tactics  and  was  at  work  on  the  Manuel  for  the  United 
States  Army. 

The  two  men  were  born  under  the  same  skies.  Their 
tastes  were  similar.  Their  clean  habits  of  life  were  alike. 
Their  ideals  were  equally  high  and  noble.  How  could  two 
such  men  fight  each  other  to  the  death  over  an  issue  of 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 321 

politics  when  some  wife  or  sister  or  mother  must  look  on 
a  dead  face  when  the  smoke  has  cleared? 

Her  soul  rose  in  rebellion  against  it  all.  She  summoned 
every  power  of  her  mind  to  the  .struggle  with  her  father. 

She  brought  them  together  at  last  in  the  room  with  her 
babies,  asleep  in  their  cradles.  She  sat  down  between  the 
two  and  held  a  hand  in  each  of  hers. 

"Now,  daddy  dear,  you  must  tell  me  why  you're  going 
to  fight  Virginia  if  she  secedes  from  the  Union." 

The  gentle  face  smiled  sadly. 

"How  can  I  make  you  understand,  dear  baby?  It's 
foolish  to  argue  such  things.  We  follow  our  hearts — 
that's  all." 

"But  you  must  tell  me,"  she  pleaded. 

"There's  nothing  to  tell,  child.  We  must  each  decide 
these  big  things  of  life  for  himself.  I'll  never  draw  my 
sword  against  the  Union.  My  fathers  created  it.  I've 
fought  for  it.  I've  lived  for  it.  And  I've  got  to  die  for  it, 
if  must  be,  that's  all — " 

He  paused,  withdrew  his  hand  from  hers,  rose  and  put 
it  on  Stuart's  shoulder. 

"You've  chosen  a  fine  boy  for  your  husband,  my  daugh- 
ter. I  love  him.  I'm  proud  of  him.  I  shall  always  be 
proud  that  your  children  bear  his  name.  He  must  fight 
this  battle  of  his  allegiance  in  his  own  soul  and  answer  to 
God,  not  to  me.  I  would  not  dare  to  try  to  influence  him." 

Stuart  rose  and  grasped  the  Colonel's  hand.  His  eyes 
were  moist. 

"Thank  you,  Colonel.  I  shall  always  remember  this 
hour  with  you  and  my  Flora.  And  I  shall  always  love 
and  respect  you,  in  life  or  death,  success  or  failure." 

The  older  man  held  Stuart's  hand  in  a  strong  grip. 

"It  grieves  me  to  feel  that  you  may  fight  the  Union, 
my  son.  I  have  seen  the  end  in  a  vision  already.  The 


322 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Union  is  indissoluble.  The  stars  in  their  courses  have 
said  it." 

"It  may  be,  sir,'*  Stuart  slowly  answered.  "Who 
knows?  We  must  do  each  what  we  believe  to  be  right,  as 
God  gives  us  to  see  the  right.'* 

The  little  mother  was  softly  crying.  Her  hopes  had 
faded.  There  was  the  note  of  finality  in  each  word  her 
men  had  uttered.  She  was  crushed. 

For  an  hour  she  talked  in  tender  commonplaces.  She 
tried  to  be  cheerful  for  her  father's  sake.  She  saw  that 
he  was  suffering  cruelly  at  the  thought  of  saying  a  good- 
bye that  might  be  the  last. 

She  broke  down  in  a  flood  of  bitter  tears.  The  father 
took  her  into  his  arms  and  soothed  her  with  tender  words. 
But  something  deep  and  strange  had  stirred  in  the  mother 
heart  within  her. 

She  drew  away  from  his  arms  and  cried  in  anguish. 

"It's  wrong.  It's  wrong.  It's  all  wrong — this  feud 
of  blood!  And  God  will  yet  save  the  world  from  it.  I 
must  believe  that  or  I'd  go  mad!" 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  in  wonder  for  a  mo- 
ment and  then  at  the  mother's  convulsed  face.  Into  the 
older  man's  features  slowly  crept  a  look  of  awe,  as  if  he 
had  heard  that  voice  before  somewhere  in  the  still  hours 
of  his  soul. 

Stuart  bent  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"There,  dear,  you're  overwrought.  Don't  worry.  Your 
work  God  has  given  you  in  these  cradles." 

"Yes,  that's  why  I  feel  this  way,"  she  whispered  on  his 
breast. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

IF  reason  had  ruled,  the  Gulf  States  of  the  South  would 
never  have  ordered  their  representatives  to  leave 
Washington  on  the  election  of  Abraham  Lincoln. 
The  new  administration  could  have  done  nothing  with 
the  Congress  chosen.  The  President  had  been  elected  on 
a  fluke  because  of  the  division  of  the  opposition  into  three 
tickets.  Lincoln  was  a  minority  President  and  was  pow- 
erless except  in  the  use  of  the  veto. 

If  the  Gulf  States  had  paused  for  a  moment  they  could 
have  seen  that  such  an  administration,  whatever  its  views 
about  Slavery,  would  have  failed,  and  the  next  election 
would  have  been  theirs.  The  moment  they  withdrew  their 
members  of  Congress,  however,  the  new  party  had  a  ma- 
jority and  could  shape  the  nation's  laws. 

The  crowd  mind  acts  on  blind  impulse,  never  on  reason. 

In  spite  of  the  President's  humane  purpose  to  keep 
peace  when  he  delivered  his  first  inaugural,  he  had  scarcely 
taken  his  seat  at  the  head  of  his  Cabinet  when  the  mob 
mind  swept  him  from  his  moorings  and  he  was  caught  in 
the  torrent  of  the  war  mania. 

The  firing  on  Fort  Sumpter  was  not  the  first  shot  by  the 
Secessionists.  They  had  fired  on  the  Star  of  the  West,  a 
ship  sent  to  the  relief  of  the  Fort,  weeks  before.  They 
had  driven  her  back  to  sea.  But  the  President  at  that 
moment  had  sufficient  power  to  withstand  the  cry  for 

323 


324 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

blood.  At  the  next  shot  he  succumbed  to  the  inevitable 
and  called  for  75,000  volunteers  to  invade  the  South.  This 
act  of  war  was  a  violation  of  his  powers  under  Constitu- 
tional law.  Congress  alone  could  declare  war.  But  Con- 
gress was  not  in  session. 

The  mob  had,  in  fact,  declared  war.  The  President  and 
his  Cabinet  were  forced  to  bow  to  its  will  and  risk  their 
necks  on  the  outcome  of  the  struggle. 

So  long  as  Virginia,  North  Carolina  and  Tennessee  re- 
fused to  secede  and  stood  with  the  Border  States  of  Mary- 
land, Missouri  and  Kentucky  inside  the  Union,  the  Con- 
federacy organized  at  Montgomery,  Alabama,  must  remain 
a  mere  political  feint. 

The  call  of  the  President  on  Virginia,  North  Carolina, 
Tennessee,  Kentucky,  Missouri  and  Maryland,  all  slave 
States,  to  furnish  their  quota  of  troops  to  fight  the  se- 
ceders,  was  in  effect  a  declaration  of  war  by  a  united  North 
upon  the  South. 

Virginia  had  refused  to  join  the  Confederacy  before 
by  an  overwhelming  majority.  All  eyes  were  again  turned 
on  the  Old  Dominion.  Would  she  accept  the  President's 
command  and  send  her  quota  of  troops  to  fight  her  sisters 
of  the  South,  or  would  she  withdraw  from  the  Union? 

The  darkest  day  of  its  history  was  dawning  on  Arling- 
ton. Lee  had  spent  a  sleepless  night  watching  the  flicker- 
ing lights  of  the  Capitol,  waiting,  hoping,  praying  for  a 
message  from  the  Convention  at  Richmond.  On  that  mes- 
sage hung  the  present,  the  future,  and  the  sacred  glory 
of  the  past. 

The  lamp  on  the  table  in  the  hall  was  still  burning  dimly 
at  dawn  when  Mary  Lee  came  downstairs  and  pulled  the 
old-fashioned  bell  cord  which  summoned  the  butler. 

Ben  entered  with  a  bow. 

"You  ring  for  me,  Missy  ?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  325 

"Yes.  You  sent  to  town  to  see  if  an  Extra  had  been 
issued?" 

"Yassam.    De  boy  come  back  more'n  a  hour  ago." 

"There  was  none?" 

"Nomum." 

"And  he  couldn't  find  Lieutenant  Stuart?" 

"Nomum.  He  look  fur  him  in  de  telegraph  office  an' 
everywhar." 

"Why  don't  he  come — why  don't  he  come?"  she  sighed. 

"I  spec  dem  wires  is  done  down,  an'  de  news  'bout  Se- 
cesum  come  froo  de  country  fum  Richmon'  by  horseback, 
M'am." 

The  girl  sighed  again  wearily. 

"The  coffee  and  sandwiches  ready,  Ben?" 

"Yassam.  All  on  de  table  waitin'.  De  coffee  gittin* 
cold." 

"I'll  bring  Papa  down,  if  I  can  get  him  to  come." 

"Yassam.  I  hopes  ye  bring  him.  He  sho  must  be  wore 
out." 

"It's  daylight,"  she  said,  "open  the  windows  and  put  out 
the  lamp." 

Mary  climbed  the  stairs  again  to  get  her  father  to  eat. 
Ben  drew  the  curtains  and  the  full  light  of  a  beautiful 
spring  morning  flooded  the  room.  A  mocking  bird  was 
singing  in  the  holly.  A  catbird  cried  from  a  rosebush, 
a  redbird  flashed  and  chirped  from  the  hedge  and  a  colt 
whinnied  for  his  mother. 

The  old  negro  lowered  the  lamp,  blew  it  out  and  began 
to  straighten  the  room.  A  soft  knock  sounded  on  the 
front  door. 

He  stopped  and  listened.  That  was  queer.  No  guest 
could  be  coming  to  Arlington  at  dawn.  Lieutenant  Stuart 
would  come  on  horseback  and  the  ring  of  his  horse's  hoofs 
could  be  heard  for  half  a  mile. 


326 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

He  turned  back  to  his  work  and  the  knock  was  re- 
peated, this  time  louder. 

He  cautiously  approached  the  door. 

"Who's  dar?" 

"Hit's  me." 

"Me  who?" 

"Hit's  me— Sam." 

"  'Tain't  no  Sam  nuther— " 

"  'Tis  me." 

"Sam's  bin  free  mos'  ten  year  now  an'  he's  livin'  in  New 
York—" 

"I  done  come  back.    Lemme  come  in  a  minute !" 

Ben  was  not  sure.  He  picked  up  a  heavy  cane,  held  it 
in  his  right  hand  and  cautiously  opened  the  door  with  his 
left,  as  Sam  entered. 

The  old  man  dropped  the  cane  and  stepped  back  in 
dumb  amazement.  It  was  some  time  before  he  spoke. 

"Name  er  Gawd,  Sam — hit  is  you." 

"Sho,  hit's  me!" 

"What  yer  doin'  here?" 

"I  come  to  see  my  old  marster  when  I  hears  all  dis  talk 
'bout  war.  Whar  is  he?" 

Ben  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  and  spoke  in  a  solemn 
tone: 

"Up  dar  in  his  room  all  night  trampin'  back  an'  fortK 
lak  er  lion  in  de  cage,  waitin'  fur  Marse  Stuart  ter  fetch 
!de  news  fum  Richmond  'bout  secessun — '* 

"Secessun?" 

Ben  nodded — and  raised  his  eyes  in  a  clreamy  look. 

"Some  say  Ole  Virginy  gwine  ter  stay  in  de  Union. 
Some  say  she's  a  gwine  ter  secede.  De  Convenshun  in 
Richmon'  wuz  votin'  on  hit  yestiddy.  Marse  Stuart  gone 
jter  town  ter  fetch  de  news  ter  Arlington." 

Sam  stepped  close  and  searched  Ben's  face. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  327 

"What's  my  ole  marster  dat  set  me  free  gwine  ter  do?" 

"Dat's  what  everybody's  axin.  He  bin  prayin'  up  dar 
all  night." 

Sam  glanced  toward  the  stairway  and  held  his  silence 
for  a  while.  He  spoke  finally  with  firm  conviction. 

"Well,  I'se  gwine  wid  him.  Ef  he  go  wid  de  Union,  I 
goes.  Ef  he  go  wid  ole  Virginy,  I  go  wid  ole  Virginy. 
Whichever  way  he  go,  dat's  de  right  way — " 

"Dat's  so,  too !"  Ben  responded  fervently. 

Sam  advanced  to  the  old  butler  with  the  quick  step  of 
the  days  when  he  was  his  efficient  helper. 

"What  ye  want  me  ter  do?" 

Ben  led  him  to  the  portico  and  pointed  down  the  white 
graveled  way  to  Washington. 

"Run  doun  de  road  ter  de  rise  er  dat  hill  an'  stay  dar. 
De  minute  yer  see  a  hoss  cross  dat  bridge — hit's  Marse 
Stuart.  Yer  fly  back  here  an'  tell  me — " 

Sam  nodded  and  disappeared.  Ben  hurried  back  into 
the  hall,  as  Mary  and  her  mother  came  down  the  stairs. 

Mrs.  Lee  was  struggling  to  control  her  fears. 

"No  sign  of  Lieutenant  Stuart  yet,  Ben?" 

"Nomum.     I'se  er  watchin'." 

"Look  again  and  see  if  there's  any  dust  on  that  long 
stretch  beyond  the  river — " 

Ben  shook  his  head. 

"Yassam,  I  look." 

He  passed  out  the  front  door  still  wagging  his  head  in 
deep  sympathy  for  the  stricken  mistress  of  the  great 
house. 

Mary  slipped  her  arm  around  her  mother,  and  used 
the  pet  name  she  spoke  in  moments  of  great  joy  and  sor- 
row. 

"Oh,  Mim  dear,  you  mustn't  worry  so !" 

Her  mother's  lips  trembled.    She  tried  to  be  strong  and 


328 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

failed.    The  tears  came  at  last  streaming  down  her  cheeks. 

"I  can't  help  it,  darling.  Life  hangs  on  this  message — 
our  home — " 

She  paused  and  her  eyes  wandered  about  the  familiar 
room  and  its  furnishings. 

"You  know  how  I  love  this  home.  It's  woven  into  the 
very  fiber  of  my  heart.  Our  future — all  that  we  have  on 
earth — it's  more  than  I  can  bear — " 

The  daughter  drew  the  dear  face  to  her  lips. 

"But  why  try  to  take  it  all  on  our  shoulders,  dearest? 
We  must  leave  Papa  to  fight  this  out  alone.  We  can't 
decide  it  for  him." 

The  mother  brushed  her  tears  away  and  responded 
cheerfully. 

"Yes,  I  know,  dear.  Your  father  didn't  leave  his  room 
all  day  yesterday.  He  ate  no  dinner.  No  supper.  All 
night  the  tramp  of  his  feet  overhead  has  only  been  broken 
when  he  fell  on  his  knees  to  pray — " 

Her  voice  wandered  off  as  in  a  half  dream.  She  paused, 
and  then  rushed  on  impetuously. 

"Why,  why  can't  we  hear  from  Richmond?  The  Con- 
vention should  have  voted  before  noon  yesterday.  And 
we've  waited  all  night — " 

"The  authorities  may  be  holding  back  the  news." 

"But  why  should  they  suppress  such  news?  The  world 
must  know." 

She  stopped  suddenly — as  if  stunned  by  the  thought 
that  oppressed  her.  She  seized  Mary's  hand,  and  asked 
tensely : 

"What  do  you  think,  dear?  Has  Virginia  left  the 
Union?" 

A  quick  answer  was  on  the  young  lips.  She  had  a  very 
clear  opinion.  She  had  talked  to  Stuart.  And  his  keen 
mind  had  seen  the  inevitable.  She  didn't  have  the  heart 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 329 

to  tell  her  mother.  She  feigned  a  mind  blank  from  weari- 
ness. 

"I  can't  think,  honey.     I'm  too  tired." 

Ben  came  back  shaking  his  gray  head. 

"Nomum.    Dey  ain't  no  sign  on  de  road  yet." 

The  waiting  wife  and  mother  cried  in  an  anguish  she 
could  not  control. 

"Why — why — why  ?" 

Ben  sought  to  distract  her  thoughts  with  the  habit  of 
house  control.  He  spoke  in  his  old  voice  of  friendly  scold- 
ing. 

"Ain't  Marse  Robert  comin'  doun  to  his  coffee,  M'am?" 

"Not  yet,  Ben.  I  couldn't  persuade  him."  The  mis- 
tress caught  the  effort  of  her  faithful  servant  to  help  in 
his  humble  way  and  it  touched  her.  She  was  making  a 
firm  resolution  to  regain  her  self-control  when  a  distant  cry 
was  heard  from  the  roadway. 

"Uncle  Ben !" 

"What's  dat?"  the  old  man  asked. 

"He's  coming?"  Mrs.  Lee  gasped. 

"I  dunno,  M'am.     I  hears  sumfin!" 

Sam's  cry  echoed  near  the  house  now  in  growing  excite- 
ment. 

"Uncle  Ben— Uncle  Ben!" 

"See,  Ben,  see  quick — "  Mary  cried. 

"Yassam.     He's  comin',  sho.     He's  seed  him." 

The  mother's  face  was  uplifted  in  prayer. 

"God's  will  be  done !" 

The  words  came  in  a  bare  whisper.  And  then  as  if  in 
answer  to  the  cry  of  her  heart  she  caught  new  hope  and 
turned  to  her  daughter. 

"You  know,  dear,  the  first  Convention  voted  against 
Secession !" 

Sam  reached  the  door  and  met  Ben. 


330  ^  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Uncle  Ben — he's  a  comin' — Marse  Stuart's  horse!  I 
seen  him  Vay  'cross  de  ribber  fust — des  one  long,  white 
streak  er  dust  ez  fur  ez  de  eye  can  reach !" 

The  mother  gripped  Mary's  arm  with  cruel  force.  The 
strain  was  again  more  than  she  could  bear. 

"Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  what  have  they  done?  What  have 
they  done?" 

Ben  entered  the  hall  holding  himself  erect  with  the  dig- 
nity of  one  who  must  bear  great  sorrows  with  his  people. 
The  mistress  called  to  him  weakly: 

"Tell  Colonel  Lee,  Ben." 

The  old  man  bowed  gravely. 

"Yassam.     Right  away,  M'am." 

Ben  hurried  to  call  his  master  as  Sam  edged  into  the 
front  door  and  smiled  at  his  mistress. 

Mrs.  Lee  saw  and  recognized  him  for  the  first  time.  His 
loyalty  touched  her  deeply  in  the  hour  of  trial.  She  ex- 
tended her  hand  in  warm  greeting. 

"Why,  Sam,  you've  come  home !" 

"Yassam.  I  come  back  ter  stan'  by  my  folks  when  dey 
needs  me." 

Mary's  eyes  were  misty  as  she  smiled  her  welcome. 

"You're  a  good  boy,  Sam." 

"Yassam.    Marse  Robert  teach  me." 

The  echo  of  Stuart's  horse's  hoof  rang  under  the  por- 
tico and  Sam  hurried  to  meet  him. 

His  clear  voice  called: 

"Don't  put  'im  up,  boy !" 

Mary's  heart  began  to  pound.  She  knew  he  would  be 
galloping  down  the  white  graveled  way  again  in  a  few 
minutes.  His  next  order  confirmed  her  fear. 

"Just  give  him  some  water!" 

"Yassah !" 

The  two  women  stood  huddled  close  in  tense  anxiety. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 331 

Lee  hurried  down  the  stairs  and  met  Stuart  at  the  door. 
Before  the  familiarity  of  a  handshake  or  word  of  welcome 
he  asked: 

"What  news,  Lieutenant?" 

Stuart  spoke  with  deep  emotion.  On  every  word  the 
man  and  the  woman  hung  breathlessly. 

"It  has  come,  sir.  Virginia  has  answered  to  the  Presi- 
dent's call  to  send  troops  against  her  own  people.  She 
has  sacrificed  all  save  honor.  The  vote  of  the  Convention 
was  overwhelming.  She  has  withdrawn  from  the  Union — " 

A  moment's  deathly  silence.  And  the  cry  of  pain  from 
a  woman's  white  lips.  Mary  caught  her  mother  in  her 
arms  and  held  her  firmly.  The  cry  wrung  her  young 
heart. 

"Oh,  dear  God,  have  mercy  on  us — and  give  us  strength 
to  bear  it — " 

Stuart  hurried  to  her  side  and  tried  to  break  the  blow 
with  cheerful  words. 

"Don't  worry,  Mrs.  Lee.    The  South  is  right." 

Lee  had  not  spoken.  His  brilliant  eyes  had  the  look  of 
a  man  who  walks  in  his  sleep.  They  were  in  the  world  but 
not  of  it.  The  deep  things  of  eternity  were  in  their  brood- 
ing. He  waked  at  last  and  turned  to  Stuart  sadly. 

"God  save  our  country,  my  boy." 

He  paused  and  looked  out  the  doorway  on  the  beautiful 
green  of  the  lawn.  The  perfume  from  the  rose  garden 
stole  in  on  the  fresh  breeze  that  stirred  from  the  river. 

"A  frightful  blow,"  he  went  on  dreamily,  "this  news 
you  bring." 

Stuart's  young  body  stiffened. 

"You're  the  foremost  citizen  of  Virginia,  sir.  Others 
may  doubt  and  waver  and  be  confused.  I  think  I  know 
what  you're  going  to  do,  in  the  end — " 

"It's  hard — it's  hard,"  the  strong  man  cried  bitterly. 


332  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

The  mother  and  daughter  studied  his  face  in  eager, 
anxious  waiting.  On  his  word  life  hung.  Stuart  glanced 
at  their  tense  faces  and  couldn't  find  speech.  He  turned 
and  spoke  briskly. 

"I  must  hurry,  sir.    I'll  be  in  Richmond  before  sunset." 

The  sound  of  carriage  wheels  grated  on  the  road  and 
a  foaming  pair  of  horses  drew  under  the  portico.  A 
woman  sprang  out. 

Mrs.  Lee  turned  to  the  Colonel. 

"It's  your  sister,  Annie,  Colonel." 

"Yes,"  Stuart  added,  "I  passed  her  on  the  way — " 

Mrs.  Marshall  hurried  to  greet  Mrs.  Lee.  The  two 
women  embraced  and  wept  in  silence. 

"Mary !" 

"Annie !" 

The  names  were  barely  breathed. 

Mary  silently  kissed  her  aunt  as  she  turned  from  her 
mother.  The  Colonel's  sister  raised  her  eyes  and  saw 
Stuart.  Her  tones  were  sharp  with  the  ring  of  a  com- 
mander giving  orders: 

"Our  army  is  marching,  Lieutenant  Stuart!  You  here 
in  civilian  clothes?" 

The  strong,  young  body  stiffened. 

"I  have  resigned  my  commission  in  the  United  States 
Army,  Mrs.  Marshall — " 

Her  finger  rose  in  an  imperious  gesture. 

"You  will  live  to  regret  it,  sir !" 

Lee  frowned  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  sister's  arm  in  a 
gesture  of  appeal. 

"Annie,  dear,  please." 

She  regained  her  poise  at  the  touch  of  his  hand  and 
turned  to  Mrs.  Lee. 

Stuart  extended  his  hand  briskly. 

"Goodbye,  sir.    I  hope  to  see  you  in  Richmond  soon — " 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 333 

Lee's  answer  was  gravely  spoken. 

"Goodbye,  my  boy.  I  honor  you  in  your  quick  de- 
cision, with  the  clear  vision  of  youth.  We,  older  men, 
must  halt  and  pray,  and  feel  our  way." 

With  a  laugh  in  his  blue  eyes  Stuart  paused  at  the  door 
half  embarrassed  at  Mrs.  Marshall's  presence.  He  waved 
his  hat  to  the  group. 

"Well,  goodbye,  everybody!  I'm  off  to  join  the  Cav- 
alry !" 

Outside  as  he  hurried  to  his  horse  he  waved  again. 

"Goodbye—!" 

There  was  a  moment's  painful  silence.  They  listened 
to  the  beat  of  his  horse's  hoof  on  the  white  roadway  to- 
ward Washington.  As  the  tall  soldier  listened  he  heard 
the  roar  of  the  hoofs  of  coming  legions.  And  a  warrior's 
soul  leaped  to  the  saddle.  But  the  soul  of  the  man,  of  the 
father  and  brother  uttered  a  cry  of  mortal  pain.  He 
looked  about  the  hall  in  a  dazed  way  as  if  unconscious 
of  the  presence  of  the  women  of  his  home. 

Mrs.  Lee  saw  his  deep  anxiety  and  whispered  to  Mrs. 
Marshall. 

"Come  to  my  room,  Annie,  and  rest  before  you  say  any- 
thing to  Robert — " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No — no,  my  dear.  I  can't.  My  heart's  too  full.  I 
can't  rest.  It's  no  use  trying." 

The  wife  took  both  her  hands. 

"Then  remember,  that  his  heart  is  even  fuller  than 
yours." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"And  you  cannot  possibly  be  suffering  as  he  is." 

"I'll  not  forget,  dear." 

Mrs.  Lee  pressed  her  hands  firmly. 

"And  say  nothing  that  you'll  live  to  regret?" 


334.  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


"I  promise,  Mary." 

"Please!" 

With  a  lingering  look  of  sympathy  for  brother  and  sis- 
ter, Mrs.  Lee  softly  left  the  room. 

Lee  stood  gazing  through  the  window  across  the  shining 
waters  of  the  river  whose  mirror  but  a  few  months  ago  had 
reflected  the  distorted  faces  of  John  Brown  and  his  men 
at  Harper's  Ferry.  It  had  come,  the  vision  he  had  seen 
as  he  looked  on  the  dark  stains  that  fateful  morning. 

He  dreaded  this  interview  with  his  sister.  He  knew  the 
views  of  Judge  Marshall,  her  husband.  He  knew  her  own 
love  for  the  Union. 

She  was  struggling  for  control  of  her  emotions  and  her 
voice  was  strained. 

"You've — you've  heard  this  awful  news  from  Rich- 
mond?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  quietly.  "And  I've  long  felt  it  com- 
ing. The  first  thunderbolt  struck  us  at  Harper's  Ferry. 
The  storm  has  broken  now — " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

She  asked  the  question  as  if  half  afraid  to  pronounce 
the  words.  Lee  turned  away  in  silence.  She  followed  him 
and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"You'll  let  me  tell  you  all  that's  in  my  heart,  my 
brother?" 

The  soldier  was  a  boy  again.  He  took  his  sister's  hand 
and  stroked  it  as  he  had  in  the  old  days  at  Stratford. 

"Of  course,  my  dear." 

"And  remember  that  we  are  brother  and  sister?" 

"Always." 

She  clung  to  his  hand  and  made  no  effort  now  to  keep 
back  the  tears. 

"And  that  I  shall  always  believe  in  you  and  be  proud 
of  you — " 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 335 

A  sob  caught  her  voice  and  she  could  not  go  on.  He 
pressed  her  hand. 

"It's  sweet  to  hear  you  say  this,  Annie,  in  the  darkest 
hour  of  my  life — " 

She  interrupted  him  in  quick,  passionate  appeal. 

"Why  should  it  be  the  darkest  hour,  Robert?  What 
have  you  or  I,  or  our  people,  to  do  with  the  madmen  who 
are  driving  the  South  over  the  brink  of  this  precipice?" 

Lee  shook  his  head. 

"The  people  of  the  South  are  not  being  driven  now,  my 
dear—" 

He  stopped.     His  eyes  flashed  as  his  words  quickened. 

"They  are  rushing  with  a  fierce  shout  as  one  man.  The 
North  thinks  that  only  a  small  part  of  the  Southern  peo- 
ple are  in  this  revolution,  misled  by  politicians.  The 
truth  is,  the  masses  are  sweeping  their  leaders  before  them, 
as  leaves  driven  by  a  storm.  The  cotton  states  are  unani- 
mous. Virginia  has  seceded.  North  Carolina  and  Ten- 
nessee will  follow  her  to-morrow,  and  the  South  a  Unit, 
the  Union  is  divided." 

The  sister  drew  herself  up  with  pride,  and  squarely 
faced  him.  She  spoke  with  deliberation. 

"Our  families,  Robert,  from  the  beginning  have  stood 
for  the  glory  of  the  Union.  It  is  unthinkable  that  you 
should  leave  it.  Such  men  as  Edmund  Ruffin — yes — the 
impulsive  old  firebrand  has  already  volunteered  as  a  pri- 
vate and  gone  to  South  Carolina.  He  pulled  the  lanyard 
that  fired  the  first  shot  against  Fort  Sumpter.  We  have 
nothing  in  common  with  such  men — " 

Lee  lifted  his  hand  in  protest. 

"Yes,  we  have,  my  dear.  We  are  both  sons  of  Vir- 
ginia, our  mother  and  the  mother  of  this  Republic." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  I'm  begging  to-day  that  you 


336 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

dedicate  your  genius,  your  soul  and  body  to  fight  the  men 
who  would,  destroy  the  Union !" 

Lee  raised  his  eyes  as  if  in  prayer  and  drew  a  deep 
breath. 

"There's  but  one  thing  for  me  to  decide,  Annie — my 
duty." 

His  sister  clasped  her  hands  nervously  and  glanced 
about  the  room.  Her  eyes  rested  on  the  portraits  of 
Washington,  and  his  wife  and  she  turned  quickly. 

"Your  wife  is  the  grand-daughter  of  Martha  Washing- 
ton. Can  you  look  on  that  portrait  of  the  father  of  this 
country,  handed  down  to  the  mother  of  your  children,  and 
dare  draw  your  sword  to  destroy  his  work?" 

"I've  tried  to  put  him  in  my  place  and  ask  what  he 
would  do — " 

He  stopped  suddenly. 

"What  would  Washington  do  if  he  stood  in  my  place 
to-day?" 

"My  dear  brother !" 

"Remember  now  that  you  are  appealing  to  me  as  my 
sister.  Did  Washington  allow  the  ties  of  blood  to  swerve 
him  from  his  duty?  His  own  mother  was  a  loyal  subject 
of  the  King  of  Great  Britain  and  died  so — " 

"Washington  led  an  army  of  patriots  in  a  sacred  cause," 
she  interrupted. 

"Surely.  But  he  won  his  first  victories  as  a  soldier 
fighting  the  French,  under  the  British  flag.  He  denounced 
that  flag,  joined  with  the  French  and  forced  Cornwallis 
to  surrender  to  the  armies  of  France  and  the  Colonies  of 
America.  He  was  equally  right  when  he  fought  under  the 
British  flag  against  the  French,  and  when  he  fought  with 
Lafayette  and  Rochambeau  and  won  our  independence. 
Each  time  he  fought  for  his  rights  under  law.  Each  time 
with  mind  and  conscience  clear,  he  answered  the  call  of 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 337 

duty.  The  man  who  does  that  is  always  right,  my  sister, 
no  matter  what  flag1  flies  above  him!" 

"Oh,  Robert,  there  is  but  one  flag — the  flag  of  Wash- 
ington, and  your  father,  Henry  Lee — " 

The  brother  broke  in  quickly. 

"And  yet,  the  first  blood  in  this  conflict  was  drawn  by 
a  man  who  cursed  that  flag,  who  again  and  again  defied 
its  authority,  and  gloried  in  the  fact  that  he  had  trampled 
it  beneath  his  feet.  The  North  has  proclaimed  him  a 
Saint.  Their  soldiers  are  now  marching  on  the  South 
singing  a  song  of  glory  to  John  Brown  and  all  for  which 
he  stood.  What  would  Washington  do  if  he  were  living, 
and  these  men  were  marching  to  invade  Virginia,  put  his 
home  at  Mount  Vernon  to  the  torch,  and  place  pikes  in 
the  hands  of  his  slaves — " 

Lee  searched  his  sister's  eyes  and  drove  his  question 
home. 

"What  would  he  do?" 

The  woman  was  too  downright  in  her  honesty  to  quibble 
or  fence.  She  couldn't  answer.  She  flushed  and  hesi- 
tated. 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know.  I  only  know,"  she  has- 
tened to  add,  "that  he  couldn't  be  a  traitor." 

"Even  so.  Who  is  the  traitor,  my  dear?  The  man  who 
defies  the  Constitution  and  the  laws  of  the  Union?  Or 
the  man  who  defends  the  law  and  the  rights  of  his  fathers 
under  it?" 

Again  she  couldn't  answer.  She  would  not  acknowledge 
defeat.  She  simply  refused  to  face  such  a  problem.  It 
led  the  wrong  way.  With  quick  wit  she  changed  her  point 
of  attack.  She  drew  close  and  asked  in  passionate  tender- 
ness: 

"Have  you  counted  the  cost?  The  frightful  cost  which 
you  and  yours  must  pay  if  you  dare  defend  Virginia?" 


338 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Lee  nodded  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"On  my  knees,  I've  tried  to  reckon  it."  He  looked  long- 
ingly over  the  wide  lawn  that  rolled  in  green  splendor  to- 
ward the  river. 

"I  know  that  if  I  cast  my  lot  with  Virginia,  this  home, 
handed  down  to  us  from  Washington,  will  be  lost,  and  its 
fields  trampled  under  the  feet  of  hostile  armies.  That  my 
wife  and  children  may  wander  homeless,  dependent  on  the 
charity  or  courtesy  of  friends.  The  thought  of  it  tears 
my  heart!" 

His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper.  And  then  he  lifted  his 
head  firmly. 

"But  I  must  not  allow  this  to  swerve  me  an  inch  from 
my  duty — " 

The  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  again  echoed  on  the  road- 
way, as  Ben  entered  from  the  dining  room  to  announce 
breakfast. 

Lee  listened. 

"See  who  that  is,  Ben." 

"Yassah." 

As  Ben  passed  out  the  door,  Lee  continued: 

"I  will  not  say  one  word  to  influence  my  three  sons.  I 
will  not  even  write  to  them.  They  must  fight  this  battle 
out  alone,  as  I  am  fighting  it  out  to-day." 

His  sister  smiled  wanly. 

"Your  sons  will  follow  you,  Robert.  And  so  will  thou- 
sands of  the  best  men  in  Virginia.  Your  responsibility  is 
terrible." 

Ben  announced  from  the  door. 

"Mr.  Francis  Preston  Blair,  ter  see  you,  sir." 

Lee  waved  the  butler  from  the  room. 

"I'll  receive  him,  Ben.     You  can  go." 

"Thank  God!"   Mrs.   Marshall   breathed.      "He's  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 339 

most  influential  man  in  Washington.  He  is  in  close  touch 
with  the  President,  and  he  is  a  Southerner — " 

She  looked  at  her  brother  pleadingly. 

"You'll  give  him  the  most  careful  hearing,  Robert?" 

"I  don't  know  the  object  of  his  visit,  but  I'll  gladly  see 
him." 

"He's  a  staunch  Union  man.  He  can  have  but  one 
object  in  coming!"  she  cried  with  elation. 

With  courtesy  Lee  met  his  distinguished  visitor  at  the 
door  and  grasped  his  hand. 

"Walk  in,  Mr.  Blair.  You  know  my  sister,  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall of  Baltimore?" 

Blair  smiled. 

"I  am  happy  to  say  that  Mrs.  Marshall  and  I  are  the 
best  of  friends.  We  have  often  met  at  the  house  of  my 
son,  Montgomery  Blair,  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  Cabinet." 

"Let  me  take  your  hat,  sir,"  Lee  said  with  an  answer- 
ing smile. 

"Thank  you." 

The  Colonel  crossed  the  room  to  place  it  on  a  table. 

Mrs.  Marshall  took  advantage  of  the  moment  to  whis- 
per to  Blair. 

"I've  done  my  best.  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  convinced 
him.  May  God  give  you  the  word  to  speak  to  my  brother 
to-day !" 

Blair  rubbed  his  hands  and  a  look  of  triumph  over- 
spread his  rugged  face. 

"He  has,  Madame.    I  have  a  message  for  him !" 

"A  message?" 

"From  the  highest  authority!" 

"May  I  be  present  at  your  conference?"  she  pleaded 
eagerly. 

"By  all  means,  Madame.  Stay  and  hear  my  announce- 
ment. He  cannot  refuse  me." 


340  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Lee  sought  at  once  to  put  Blair  at  ease  on  his  mis- 
sion. 

"From  my  sister's  remark  a  moment  ago,  I  may  guess 
the  purpose  of  your  coming,  Mr.  Blair?" 

His  guest  surveyed  Lee  with  an  expression  of  deep 
pleasure  in  the  unfolding  of  his  message. 

"In  part,  yes,  you  may  have  guessed  my  purpose.  But 
I  have  something  to  say  that  even  your  keen  mind  has 
not  surmised — " 

"I  am  honored,  sir,  in  your  call  and  I  shall  be  glad  to 
hear  you." 

Blair  drew  himself  erect  as  if  on  military  duty. 

"Colonel  Lee,  I  have  come  after  a  conference  with 
President  Lincoln,  to  ask  you  to  throw  the  power  of 
your  great  name  into  this  fight  now  to  put  an  end  to 
chaos — " 

"You  have  come  from  the  President?" 

"Unofficially—" 

"Oh—" 

"But  with  his  full  knowledge  and  consent." 

"And  what  is  his  suggestion?" 

Blair  hesitated. 

"He  cannot  make  it  until  he  first  knows  that  you  will 
accept  his  offer." 

"His  offer?" 

Blair  waited  until  the  thought  had  been  fully  grasped 
and  then  uttered  each  word  with  solemn  emphasis. 

"His  offer,  sir,  of  the  supreme  command  of  the  armies 
of  the  Union — " 

A  cry  of  joy  and  pride  came  resistlessly  from  the  sis- 
ter's lips. 

"Oh,  Robert— Robert!" 

Lee  was  surprised  and  deeply  moved.     He  rose  from 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 341 

his  seat,  walked  to  the  window,  looked  out,  flushed  and 
slowly  said: 

"You — 3rou — cannot  mean  this — ?" 

Blair  hastened  to  assure  him. 

"I  am  straight  from  the  White  House.  General  Scott 
has  eagerly  endorsed  your  name." 

"But  I  cannot  realize  this  to  me — from  Abraham  Lin- 
coln?" 

"From  Abraham  Lincoln,  whose  simple  common  sense 
is  the  greatest  asset  to-day  which  the  Union  possesses. 
His  position  is  one  of  frank  conciliation  toward  the  South." 

"Yet  he  said  once  that  this  Republic  cannot  endure 
half  slave  and  half  free  and  the  South  interpreted  that  to 
mean — war — " 

"Exactly.  Crowds  do  not  reason.  They  refuse  to 
think.  They  refuse,  therefore,  to  hear  his  explanation  of 
those  words.  He  hates  Slavery  as  you  hate  Slavery.  He 
knows,  as  you  know,  that  it  is  doomed  by  the  process  of 
time.  To  make  this  so  clear  that  he  who  runs  may  read, 
he  wrote  in  his  inaugural  address  in  so  many  words  his 
solemn  pledge  to  respect  every  right  now  possessed  by 
the  masters  of  the  South  under  law. 

' '/  have  no  purpose  to  interfere  with  the  institution  of 
Slavery  in  the  States  where  it  exists.'  ' 

"His  sole  purpose  now  is  to  save  the  Union,  Slavery  or 
no  Slavery — " 

"Surely,  Robert,"  his  sister  cried,  "you  can  endorse  that 
stand !" 

"Mr.  Lincoln,"  Blair  went  on  eagerly,  "is  a  leader  whose 
common  sense  amounts  to  genius.  No  threats  or  bluster, 
inside  his  own  party  or  outside  of  it,  can  swerve  him  from 
his  high  aim.  He  is  going  to  save  this  Union  first  and 
let  all  other  questions  bide  their  time." 

Lee  searched  Blair  with  his  keen  eyes. 


342 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY: 

"But  Mr.  Lincoln,  without  the  authority  of  Congress, 
has  practically  declared  war.  He  has  called  on  Virginia 
to  furnish  troops  to  fight  a  sister  State.  My  State  has 
decided  that  he  had  no  power  under  the  Constitution  to 
issue  such  a  call.  It  is,  therefore,  illegal.  The  organic 
law  of  the  republic  makes  no  provision  for  raising  troops 
to  fight  a  sister  State." 

Blair  lifted  both  hands  in  a  persuasive  gesture. 

"Let  us  grant,  Colonel  Lee,  that  in  law  you  are  right. 
The  States  are  sovereign.  The  Constitution  gives  the 
General  Government  no  power  to  coerce  a  State.  Our 
fathers,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  never  faced  such  a  possi- 
bility. Grant  all  that  in  law.  Even  so,  a  mighty,  united 
nation  has  grown  through  the  years.  It  is  now  a  living 
thing,  immutable,  indissoluble.  It  commands  your  obedi- 
ence and  mine." 

Lee  was  silent  and  Mrs.  Marshall  cried: 

"Surely  this  is  true,  Robert!" 

"My  dear  Mr.  Blair,"  Lee  slowly  began,  "your  claim 
is  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  law — the  beginning  of 
anarchy.  If  under  the  law,  Virginia  is  right,  is  it  not  my 
duty  to  defend  her?  Obedience  to  law  is  the  cornerstone 
on  which  all  nations  are  built  if  they  endure.  Reverence 
for  law  is  to-day  the  force  driving  the  South  into  revo- 
lution—" 

"A  revolution  doomed  to  certain  failure,"  Blair  quickly 
interrupted.  "The  border  slave  states  of  Maryland, 
Kentucky  and  Missouri,  under  Mr.  Lincoln's  conservative 
leadership,  will  never  secede.  Without  them  the  South 
must  fail.  You  have  served  under  the  flag  of  the  Union 
for  thirty  years.  You  know  the  North.  You  know  the 
South.  And  you  know  that  such  a  revolution  based  on  a 
division  of  the  Union  without  these  border  States  is  mad- 
ness— " 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 343 

"It  is  madness,  Robert,"  Mrs.  Marshall  joined,  "utter 
madness !" 

"Right  and  duty,  Mr.  Blair,  have  nothing  to  do  with 
success  or  failure,"  Lee  responded.  "I  know  the  fearful 
odds  against  the  South.  I  know  the  indomitable  will,  the 
energy,  the  fertile  resources,  the  pride  of  opinion  of  the 
North,  once  set  in  motion.  I  know  that  the  South  has 
no  money,  no  army,  no  organized  government,  no  stand- 
ing in  the  Court  of  Nations.  She  will  have  a  white  popu- 
lation of  barely  five  millions  against  twenty-two  millions 
— and  her  ports  will  be  closed  by  our  Navy — " 

Blair  interrupted  and  leaned  close. 

"And  let  me  add,  that  as  our  leader  you  will  not  only 
command  the  greatest  army  ever  assembled  under  the 
American  flag,  backed  by  a  great  Navy — but  that  your 
victory  will  be  but  the  beginning  of  a  career.  From  your 
window  you  see  the  White  House  and  the  Capitol.  The 
man  who  leads  the  Union  armies  will  succeed  Mr.  Lincoln 
as  President." 

Lee's  protest  was  emphatic. 

"I  aspire  to  no  office,  Mr.  Blair.  I'm  fifty-four  years 
of  age.  I  am  on  the  hilltop  of  life.  The  way  leads  down 
a  gentle  slope,  I  trust,  to  a  valley  of  peace,  love  and 
happiness.  Ambition  does  not  lure  me;  I  have  lived.  I 
have  played  my  part  as  well  as  I  know  how.  I  am  content. 
I  love  my  Country,  North  and  South,  East  and  West.  I 
am  a  trained  soldier — I  know  nothing  else." 

"The  highest  honor  of  this  Nation,  Colonel  Lee,  is 
something  no  man  born  under  our  flag  dares  to  decline. 
Few  men  in  history  have  been  so  well  equipped  as  you  for 
such  an  honor,  both  by  birth  and  culture.  You  must  also 
remember  that  the  President  of  the  United  States  is  Com- 
mander in  Chief  of  the  Army  and  Navy.  You  are  proud 
of  your  profession.  You  would  honor  it  in  the  highest 


344  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

office  of  the  Republic.  You  are  held  in  the  highest  esteem 
by  every  soldier  in  the  army.  The  President  calls  you. 
The  Nation  calls  you.  All  eyes  are  upon  you." 

Blair  studied  the  effect  of  his  appeal.  He  saw  that 
Lee  was  profoundly  moved.  Yet  his  courteous  manner 
gave  no  hint  of  the  trend  of  his  emotions.  He  did  not  re- 
ply for  a  moment  and  then  spoke  with  tenderness. 

"My  dear  friend,  you  must  not  think  that  I  am  deaf 
to  such  calls.  They  move  me  to  the  depths.  But  no  honor 
can  reconcile  me  to  this  awful  war.  It  is  madness.  It  is 
absolutely  unnecessary.  But  for  John  Brown's  insane  act 
it  could  have  been  avoided.  But  it  has  come.  Its  glory 
does  not  tempt  me.  I  wish  peace  on  earth  and  good  will 
to  all  men.  I  am  a  soldier,  but  a  Christian  soldier — " 

His  voice  broke. 

"I  am  one  of  the  humblest  followers  of  Jesus  Christ. 
There  is  but  a  single  question  for  me  to  decide — my 
duty—" 

A  horseman  dashed  under  the  portico,  threw  his  reins 
to  Sam  and  entered  without  announcement. 

"Colonel  Lee?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

He  handed  Lee  a  folded  paper  bearing  the  great  seal 
of  the  State. 

"A  message,  sir,  from  Richmond." 

Lee's  hand  trembled  as  he  broke  the  seal.  He  stared 
at  its  words  as  in  a  dream. 

"You  have  important  news?"  Blair  asked. 

"Most  important.  I  am  summoned  to  Richmond  by  the 
Governor  in  obedience  to  a  resolution  of  the  Legisla- 
ture." 

Mrs.  Marshall  advanced  on  the  dusty,  young  messen- 
ger, her  eyes  aflame  with  anger. 

"How  dare  you  enter  this  house  unannounced,  sir?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 345 

The  boy  did  not  answer.  He  turned  away  with  a  smile. 
She  repented  her  words  immediately.  They  had  sounded 
undignified,  if  not  positively  rude.  But  she  had  been  so 
sure  that  Blair  could  not  fail.  This  call  from  Richmond, 
coming  in  the  moment  of  crisis,  drove  her  to  desperation. 
She  looked  at  Blair  helplessly  and  he  rallied  to  the  attack 
with  renewed  determination. 

"A  Nation  is  calling  you.  The  Union  your  fathers 
created  is  calling  you,  Colonel  Lee!" 

Lee's  figure  stiffened  the  least  bit,  though  his  words 
were  uttered  in  the  friendliest  tones. 

"Virginia  is  also  calling  me,  Mr.  Blair.  Your  own 
State  of  Maryland  has  not  seceded.  For  that  reason  you 
cannot  feel  this  tragedy  as  I  feel  it.  Put  yourself  in  my 
place.  I  ask  you  the  question,  is  not  the  command  of  a 
State  that  of  a  mother  to  a  child?  We  are  citizens  of 
the  State,  not  of  the  Union.  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
citizenship  in  the  Union.  We  vote  only  as  citizens  of  a 
State.  We  enlist  as  soldiers  by  States.  I  was  sent  to 
West  Point  as  a  cadet  by  the  State  of  Virginia.  Even 
President  Lincoln's  proclamation  calling  for  volunteers  to 
coerce  a  State,  revolutionary  as  it  is,  is  addressed,  not  to 
individual  men,  but  to  the  States.  He  must  call  on  each 
to  furnish  her  quota  of  soldiers — " 

"Yet  the  call  is  to  every  citizen  of  the  Nation !" 

Lee's  hand  was  raised  in  a  gesture  of  imperious  affirma* 
tion. 

"There  is  no  such  thing  as  citizenship  of  the  Nation! 
We  don't  pay  taxes  to  the  Nation.  We  may  yet  become 
a  Nation.  We  are  as  yet  a  Union  of  Sovereign  States. 
Virginia  has  refused  to  furnish  the  troops  called  for  by 
the  President  and  has  withdrawn  from  the  Union.  She 
reserved  in  her  vote  to  enter,  the  right  to  withdraw.  I 
am  a  Virginian.  What  is  my  duty?" 


346 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"To  fight  for  the  Union,  Robert— always !"  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall answered. 

"I  love  the  Union,  my  dear  sister,  my  heart  aches  at 
the  thought  of  its  division — " 

He  turned  sharply  to  Blair. 

"But  is  not  the  South  to-day  in  taking  her  stand  for 
the  rights  of  the  State  asserting  a  principle  as  vital  as 
the  Union  itself?  All  the  great  minds  of  the  North  have 
recognized  that  these  rights  are  fundamental  to  our  life. 
Bancroft  declares  that  the  State  is  the  guardian  of  the 
security  and  happiness  of  the  individual.  Hamilton  de- 
clares that,  if  the  States  shall  lose  their  powers,  the  people 
will  be  robbed  of  their  liberties.  George  Clinton  says  that 
the  States  are  our  only  security  for  the  liberties  of  the 
people  against  a  centralized  tyranny.  These  rights  once 
surrendered,  and  I  solemnly  warn  you,  my  friend,  that 
your  children  and  mine  may  live  to  see  in  Washington  a 
centralized  power  that  will  dare  to  say  what  you  shall 
eat,  what  you  shall  drink,  and  what  you  shall  wear!" 

Blair  laughed  incredulously. 

"Surely  it's  a  far  cry  to  that.  Colonel — " 

"I'm  not  so  sure,  Mr.  Blair.  And  the  cry  from  Vir- 
ginia rings  through  my  heart.  I  see  her  in  mortal  peril. 
My  father  was  three  times  Governor  of  the  Commonwealth. 
Virginia  gave  America  the  immortal  words  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence.  She  gave  us  something  greater. 
She  gave  us  George  Washington,  a  Southern  slaveholder, 
whose  iron  will  alone  carried  our  despairing  people  through 
ten  years  of  hopeless  revolution  and  won  at  last  our  right 
to  live.  Madison  wrote  the  Constitution.  John  Marshall 
of  Virginia,  as  Chief  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court,  estab- 
lished its  power  on  the  foundations  of  Justice  and  Law. 
Jefferson  doubled  our  area  in  the  Louisiana  Territory. 
Scott  and  Taylor  extended  it  to  the  Pacific  Ocean  from 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 347 

Oregon  to  the  Gulf  of  California.  Virginia  in  the  gener- 
osity of  her  great  heart  gave  the  Northwest  to  the  Union 
and  forbade  the  extension  of  slavery  within  it — " 

Blair  leaped  to  make  a  point. 

"Surely  these  proud  recollections,  of  her  gifts  to  the 
Union  should  form  bonds  too  strong  to  be  broken!" 

"So  say  I,  sir!  Surely  they  should  place  the  people 
of  all  sections  under  obligations  too  deep  to  permit  the 
invasion  of  her  sacred  soil !  Can  I  stand  by  as  her  loyal 
son  and  see  this  invasion  begun?  I  regret  that  Virginia 
has  withdrawn.  But  the  deed  is  done.  Her  people  through 
their  Governor  and  their  Legislature  call  me — command 
me  to  come  to  her  defense.  They  may  be  wrong.  They 
may  be  blinded  by  passion.  They  are  still  my  people,  my 
neighbors,  my  friends,  my  children — and  I  cannot — " 

He  drew  a  deep  breath  and  rose  to  his  full  height. 

"/  will  not  draw  my  sword  against  them!" 

"Glory  to  God !"  the  messenger  exulted. 

Blair  spoke  with  despair. 

"This  is  your  final  decision?" 

"Final." 

The  messenger  slipped  close  to  Lee  and  spoke  hurriedly. 

"I  came  by  special  train,  sir — an  engine  and  coach. 
They  wait  you  on  a  siding  just  outside  of  town.  We're 
afraid  the  line  may  be  cut.  The  Northern  troops  are  biv- 
ouacing  on  the  Capitol  hill.  They  may  stop  us.  We've 
no  time  to  lose.  I  hope  you  can  come  at  once." 

The  messenger  walked  quickly  through  the  door  and 
seized  his  horse's  reins. 

Lee  turned  to  Blair. 

"Troops  are  on  the  Capitol  Hill?" 

"A  regiment  of  Pennsylvanians  has  just  arrived,  I  be- 
lieve." 

Sam  had  edged  through  the  door  and  stood  smiling  at 


348  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

his  old  master.  The  Colonel  had  not  seen  him  to  this 
moment. 

"You  here,  Sam?"  he  said  with  feeling. 

"Yassah.  I  come  home  ter  stan'  by  you,  Marse  Rob- 
ert." 

"Saddle  my  horse,  you  can  go  with  me !" 

"Yassah.     Thankee,  sah!" 

"Bring  Sid  to  fetch  our  horses  back  from  the  train." 

"Yassah,  glory  hallelujah!"  Sam  shouted  as  he  darted 
for  the  stable. 

The  anxious  mother,  praying  in  her  room  upstairs, 
heard  Sam's  shout  and  hurried  down  with  Mary.  The 
other  children  happily  were  on  the  Pamunkey  at  the  home 
of  Custis. 

The  mother's  heart  was  pounding.  There  was  war  in 
Sam's  shout.  She  felt  its  savage  thrill.  She  gripped  her- 
self for  the  ordeal.  There  should  be  no  vain  regrets,  no 
foolish  words.  Her  soul  rose  in  the  glory  of  sacrificial 
love. 

"What  is  it,  my  dear?"  she  asked  softly. 

"I  go  to  Richmond  immediately.  Northern  troops  are 
pouring  into  Washington.  Send  my  things  to  me  if  you 
can." 

His  eyes  wandered  about  the  room  he  loved.  He  would 
never  see  it  again.  He  felt  this  in  his  inmost  soul.  It 
would  be  but  the  work  of  an  hour  for  the  troops  to  sweep 
across  the  bridge,  sack  its  rooms  and  leave  its  beautiful 
lawn  a  sodden  waste. 

The  wife  saw  the  anguish  in  his  gaze  and  her  words 
rang  with  exaltation. 

"Then  it  is  God's  will.  And  I  shall  try  to  smile.  You 
have  reached  this  decision  in  deepest  thought  and  prayer. 
And  I  know  that  you  are  right !" 

Lee  took  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  in  silence.    Those 


349 


who  saw,  wept.  At  last  he  kissed  her  tenderly  and  turned 
to  the  others. 

His  sister  walked  blindly  toward  him. 

"Oh,  Robert,  you  have  broken  my  heart — " 

"I  know,  Annie,  that  you'll  blame  me,"  he  answered, 
gently. 

She  slipped  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"No,  I  shall  not  blame  you.  I  understand  now.  I  only 
grieve — " 

Her  voice  broke.     She  struggled  to  control  herself. 

"How  handsome  you  are  in  this  solemn  hour,  my  glor- 
ious, soldier-brother — "  Again  her  voice  failed. 

"The  pity  and  horror  of  it  all!  My  husband  and  my 
son  will  fight  you — and — I — shall — pray — for — their — 
success — oh — how  can  God  permit  it! — Goodbye,  Rob- 
ert !" 

Her  arms  tightened  and  his  responded.  His  hand 
touched  her  hair  and  he  said  slowly: 

"If  dark  hours  come  to  us,  my  sister,  we  are  children 
again  roaming  the  fields  hand  in  hand.  We'll  just  remem- 
ber that." 

She  kissed  him  tenderly. 

"And  success  or  failure,  dear  Annie,"  he  continued, 
"shall  be  in  God's  hands — not  ours.  I  go  to  lead  a  for- 
lorn hope  perhaps.  But  I  must  share  the  miseries  of  my 
people." 

He  slipped  from  her  arms  and  silently  embraced  his 
daughter,  and  again  her  mother. 

"Say  goodbye  to  the  other  children  for  me  when  you 
see  them,  dear." 

Blair  took  his  extended  hand. 

"I  know  what  you  feel,  Colonel  Lee,"  he  said  solemnly. 
"I'm  only  sorry  I  could  not  hold  you." 

"Thank  you,  my  friend.     My  people  believe,  and  I  be- 


350 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

lieve  that  we  have  rights  to  defend.  And  we  must  do  our 
best — even  if  we  perish." 

He  strode  quickly  to  the  door,  and  paused.  A  sudden 
pain  caught  his  heart  as  he  crossed  its  threshold  for  the 
last  time.  He  looked  back,  lifted  his  head  as  in  prayer 
and  passed  out. 

He  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  swiftly  through  the 
beautiful  spring  morning  toward  Richmond — and  Immor- 
tality. The  women  stood  weeping.  The  President's  mes- 
senger watched  in  sorrow. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

WHEN  John  Brown  cunningly  surveyed  the  lines 
around  those  houses  in  Kansas,  observed  the  fas- 
tenings of  their  doors,  marked  the  strength  of  the 
shutters,  learned  the  names  of  their  dogs,  crept  under  the 
cover  of  darkness  on  his  prey  as   a  wild  beast   creeps 
through  the  jungle  and  hacked  his  innocent  victims  to 
pieces,  we  know  that  he  was  a  criminal  paranoiac  pur- 
suing a  fixed  idea  under  the  delusion  that  God  had  sent 
him. 

Yet  on  the  eighteenth  of  July,  1861,  Colonel  Fletcher 
Webster's  regiment,  the  Twelfth  Massachusetts,  marched 
through  the  streets  of  Boston  singing  a  song  of  glory  to 
John  Brown  which  one  of  its  members  composed.  They 
were  also  marching  Southward  to  kill.  The  only  differ- 
ence was  they  had  a  Commission. 

War  had  been  declared. 

Why  did  the  war  crowd  on  the  streets  and  in  the  ranks 
burst  into  song  as  they  marched  to  kill  their  fellow  men? 

To  find  the  answer  we  must  go  back  to  the  dawn  of 
human  history  and  see  man,  as  yet  a  savage  beast,  with 
but  one  impulse  the  dominant  force  in  life,  the  archaic 
impulse  to  slay. 

All  wars  are  not  begun  in  this  elemental  fashion.  There 
are  wars  of  defense  forced  on  innocent  nations  by  brutal 
aggressors.  But  the  joy  that  thrills  the  soul  of  the  crowd 

351 


352 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY    

on  the  declaration  of  war  is  always  the  simple  thing.  It 
is  the  roar  of  the  lion  as  he  springs  on  his  prey. 

In  this  Song  to  the  Soul  of  John  Brown  there  was  no 
thought  of  freeing  a  slave.  War  was  not  declared  on  that 
ground.  The  President  who  called  them  had  no  such 
purpose.  The  men  who  marched  had  no  such  idea.  They 
sang  "Glory,  Glor}T  Hallelujah!  Glory,  Glory  Hallelu- 
jah!" because  they  saw  Red. 

The  restraints  of  Law,  Religion  and  Tradition  had  been 
lifted.  The  primitive  beast  that  had  been  held  in  check 
by  civilization,  rose  with  a  shout  and  leaped  to  its  ancient 
task.  The  homicidal  wish — fancy  with  which  the  human 
mind  had  toyed  in  times  of  peace  in  dreams  and  reveries — 
was  now  a  living  reality. 

Not  one  in  a  thousand  knew  what  the  war  was  about. 
And  this  one  in  a  thousand  who  thought  he  knew  was 
mistaken.  It  had  been  made  legal  to  kill.  They  were 
marching  to  kill.  They  shouted.  They  sang. 

They  were  marching  to  the  most  utterly  senseless  and 
unnecessary  struggle  in  the  history  of  our  race.  The 
North  in  the  hours  of  sanity  which  preceded  the  outburst 
did  not  wish  war.  The  South  in  her  sane  moments  never 
believed  it  possible.  Yet  the  hell-lit  tragedy  of  brothers 
marching  to  slay  their  brothers  had  come.  Nothing  could 
dampen  the  enthusiasm  of  this  first  joyous  mob. 

On  the  night  of  the  twentieth  of  July  the  Army  of  the 
North  was  encamped  about  seven  miles  from  Beaure- 
guard's  lines  at  Bull  Run.  The  volunteers  were  singing, 
shouting,  girding  their  loins  for  the  fray.  They  had 
heard  the  firing  on  the  first  skirmish  line.  Fifteen  or 
twenty  men  had  been  killed  it  was  reported. 

The  Red  Thought  leaped ! 

At  two  o'clock  before  day  on  Sunday  morning,  the  order 
came  to  advance  against  the  foe.  The  deep  thrill  of  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  353 

elemental  man  swept  the  crowd.  They  had  come  loaded 
down  with  baggage.  They  hurled  it  aside  and  got  their 
guns. 

What  many  of  them  were  afraid  of  was  that  the  whole 
rebel  army  would  escape  before  they  could  get  into  the 
thick  of  it.  Many  had  brought  handcuffs  and  ropes  along 
with  which  to  manacle  their  prisoners  and  have  sport  with 
them  after  the  fight,  another  ancient  pastime  of  our  half- 
ape  ancestors.  They  threw  down  some  of  their  blankets 
but  held  on  to  their  handcuffs. 

When  the  first  crash  of  battle  came  these  raw  recruits 
on  both  sides  fought  with  desperate  bravery  for  nine 
terrible  hours.  They  fought  from  dawn  until  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  under  the  broiling  Southern  sun  of  July. 
Charge  and  counter  charge  left  their  toll  of  the  dead  and 
then  the  tired  archaic  muscles  began  to  wonder  when  it 
would  end.  Why  hadn't  victory  come?  Where  were  the 
prisoners  they  were  to  manacle? 

Both  sides  were  sick  with  hunger  and  weariness.  The 
Southerners  were  expecting  reinforcements  from  Manas- 
sas  Junction.  The  Northerners  were  expecting  rein- 
forcements. Their  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  same  road 
which  led  from  the  Shenandoah  Valley. 

A  dust  cloud  suddenly  rose  over  the  hill.  A  fresh  army 
was  marching  on  the  scene.  North  and  South  looked  with 
straining  eyes.  They  were  not  long  in  doubt.  The  first 
troops  suddenly  swung  in  on  the  right  flank  of  the  South- 
ern army  and  began  to  form  their  lines  to  charge  the 
North. 

Suddenly  from  this  fresh  Southern  line  rose  a  new  cry. 
From  two  thousand  throats  came  the  shrill,  elemental,  sav- 
age shout  of  the  hunter  in  sight  of  his  game — the  fierce 
Rebel  Yell. 

They  charged  the  Northern  lines  and  then  pandemon- 


354 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

ium — blind,  unreasoning  wolf-panic  seized  the  army  that 
had  marched  with  songs  and  shouts  to  kill.  They  broke 
and  fled.  They  cut  the  traces  of  their  horses,  left  the 
guns,  mounted  and  rode  for  life. 

The  mob  engulfed  the  buggies  and  carriages  of  Con- 
gressmen and  picnickers  who  had  come  out  from  Wash- 
ington to  see  the  fun.  A  rebellion  crushed  at  a  blow! 

Stuart  at  the  head  of  his  Black  Horse  Cavalry,  his 
saber  flashing,  cut  his  way  through  this  mob  again  and 
again. 

When  the  smoke  of  battle  lifted,  the  dazed,  ill-organized 
ambulance  corps  searched  the  field  for  the  first  toll  of  the 
Blood  Feud.  They  found  only  nine  hundred  boys  slain 
and  two  thousand  six  hundred  wounded.  They  lay  wel- 
tering in  their  blood  in  the  smothering  heat  and  dust  and 
dirt. 

The  details  of  men  were  busy  burying  the  dead,  some 
of  their  bodies  yet  warm. 

The  morning  after  dawned  black  and  lowering  and  the 
rain  began  to  pour  in  torrents.  Through  the  streets  of 
Washington  the  stragglers  streamed.  The  plumes  which 
waved  as  they  sang  were  soaked  and  drooping.  Their 
gorgeous,  new  uniforms  were  wrinkled  and  mud-smeared. 

The  President  called  for  five  hundred  thousand  men  this 
time.  The  joy  and  glory  of  war  had  gone. 

But  war  remained. 

War  grim,  gaunt,  stark,  hideous — as  remorseless  as 
death. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

IN  a  foliage-embowered  house  on  a  hill  near  Washing- 
ton Colonel  Jeb  Stuart,  Commander  of  the  Confeder- 
ate Cavalry,  had  made  his  headquarters. 

Neighing  horses  were  hitched  to  the  swaying  limbs. 
They  pawed  the  ground,  wheeled  and  whinnied  their  im- 
patience at  inaction.  Every  man  who  sat  in  one  of  those 
saddles  owned  his  mount.  These  boys  were  the  flower  of 
Southern  manhood.  The  Confederate  Government  was  too 
poor  to  furnish  horses  for  the  Cavalry.  Every  man, 
volunteering  for  this  branch  of  the  service,  must  bring 
his  own  horse  and  equipment  complete.  The  South  only 
furnished  a  revolver  and  carbine.  At  the  first  battle  of 
Bull  Run  they  didn't  have  enough  of  them  even  for  the 
regiments  Stuart  commanded.  Whole  companies  were 
armed  only  with  the  pikes  which  John  Brown  had  made 
for  the  swarming  of  the  Black  Bees  at  Harper's  Ferry. 
They  used  these  pikes  as  lances. 

The  thing  that  gave  the  Confederate  Cavalry  its  im- 
petuous dash,  its  fire  and  efficiency  was  the  fact  that 
every  man  on  horseback  had  been  born  in  the  saddle  and 
had  known  his  horse  from  a  colt.  From  the  moment  they 
swung  into  line  they  were  veterans. 

The  North  had  no  such  riders  in  the  field  as  yet. 
Brigadier-General  Phillip  St.  George  Cooke  was  organiz- 

355 


356 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

ing  this  branch  of  the  service.  It  would  take  weary  months 
to  train  new  riders  and  break  in  strange  horses. 

Until  these  born  riders,  mounted  on  their  favorites, 
could  be  killed  or  their  horses  shot  from  under  them, 
there  would  be  tough  work  ahead  for  the  Union  Cavalry. 

A  farmer  approached  at  sunset.  He  gazed  on  the  array 
with  pride. 

He  lifted  his  gray  head  and  shouted: 

"Hurrah  for  our  boys !  Old  Virginia'll  show  'em  before 
we're  through  with  this  !" 

A  sentinel  saluted  the  old  man. 

"I've  come  for  Colonel  Stuart.  His  wife  and  babies 
are  at  my  house.  He'll  understand.  Tell  him." 

The  farmer  watched  the  spectacle.  Straight  in  front 
of  the  little  portico  on  its  tall  staff  fluttered  the  Com- 
mander's new,  blood-red  battle  flag  with  its  blue  St.  An- 
drew's cross  and  white  stars  rippling  in  the  wind.  Spurs 
were  clanking,  sabers  rattling.  A  courier  dashed  up,  dis- 
mounted and  entered  the  house.  Young  officers  in  their 
new  uniforms  were  laughing  and  chatting  in  groups  before 
the  door. 

An  escort  brought  in  a  Federal  Cavalry  prisoner  on  his 
mount.  The  boys  gathered  around  him  and  roared  with 
laughter.  He  was  a  good-natured  Irishman  who  could  take 
a  joke.  His  horse  was  loaded  down  with  a  hundred  pounds 
of  extra  equipment.  The  Irishman  had  half  of  it  strapped 
on  his  own  back. 

A  boy  shouted: 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  did  you  take  him  with  all  that 
freight?" 

An  escort  roared: 

"That's  why  we  took  him.     He  couldn't  run." 

The  boy  looked  at  the  solemn  face  of  the  prisoner  and 
Chaffed : 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 357 

"And  why  have  ye  got  that  load  on  your  own  back, 
man?" 

Without  cracking  a  smile  the  Irishman  replied: 

"An'  I  thought  me  old  horse  had  all  he  could  carry!" 

The  boys  roared,  pulled  him  down,  took  off  his  trap- 
pings and  told  him  to  make  himself  at  home. 

Inside  the  house  could  be  heard  the  hum  of  conversa- 
tion, with  an  occasional  boom  of  laughter  that  could  come 
from  but  one  throat. 

Work  for  the  day  completed,  he  came  to  the  door  to 
greet  his  visitor.  The  farmer's  eyes  flashed  at  the  sight 
of  his  handsome  figure.  He  was  only  twenty-eight  years 
old,  of  medium  height,  with  a  long,  silken,  bronzed  beard 
and  curling  mustache. 

He  waved  his  hand  and  cried : 

"With  you  in  a  minute !" 

His  voice  was  ringing  music.  He  wore  a  new  suit  of 
Confederate  gray  which  his  wife  had  just  sent  him.  His 
gauntlets  extended  nine  inches  above  the  wrists.  His  cav- 
alry boots  were  high  above  the  knee.  His  broad-brimmed 
felt  hat  was  caught  up  on  one  side  with  a  black  ostrich 
plume.  His  cavalry  coat  fitted  tightly — a  "fighting 
jacket."  It  was  circled  with  a  black  belt  from  which  hung 
his  revolver  and  over  which  was  tied  a  splendid  yellow 
sash.  His  spurs  were  gold. 

A  first  glance  would  give  the  impression  of  a  gay  young- 
ster overfond  of  dress.  But  the  moment  his  blue  eyes 
flashed  there  came  the  glint  of  steel.  The  man  behind  the 
uniform  was  seen,  the  bravest  of  the  brave,  the  flower  of 
Southern  chivalry. 

For  all  his  gay  dress  he  was  from  the  crown  of  his  head 
to  the  soles  of  his  feet,  every  inch  the  soldier — the  soldier 
with  the  big  brain  and  generous,  fun-loving  heart.  His 
forehead  was  extraordinary  in  height  and  breadth,  bronzed 


358 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

by  sun  and  wind.  His  nose  was  large  and  nostrils  mobile. 
His  eyes  were  clear,  piercing,  intense.  His  laughing  mouth 
was  completely  covered  by  the  curling  mustache  and  long 
beard. 

He  had  darted  around  the  house  on  waving  to  his  visi- 
tor and  in  a  minute  reappeared,  followed  by  three  negroes. 
He  was  taking  his  minstrels  with  him  on  the  trip  to  see 
his  wife. 

The  cavalcade  mounted.    He  waved  his  aides  aside. 

"No  escort,  boys.     See  you  at  sunrise." 

The  farmer's  house  was  only  half  a  mile  inside  his  lines. 
When  the  army  of  the  North  was  hurled  back  into  Wash- 
ington he  had  sent  for  his  wife  and  babies  and  arranged 
for  their  board  at  the  nearest  farmhouse. 

The  little  mother's  heart  was  fluttering  with  love  and 
pride.  Richmond  was  already  ringing  with  the  praises  of 
her  soldier  man.  They  were  recruiting  the  first  brigade 
of  Cavalry.  He  was  slated  for  Brigadier-General  of  the 
mounted  forces.  And  he  was  only  twenty-eight! 

Stuart  sprang  from  his  horse  and  rushed  to  meet  his 
wife.  She  was  waiting  in  the  glow  of  the  sunset,  her  eyes 
misty  with  joyous  tears. 

It  was  a  long  time  as  she  nestled  in  his  arms  before  she 
could  speak.  Her  voice  was  barely  a  whisper. 

"You've  passed  through  your  first  baptism  of  blood 
safely,  my  own!" 

"Baptism  of  blood — nothing !"  He  laughed.  "It  wasn't 
a  fight  at  all.  We  had  nothing  to  do  till  the  blue  birds 
flew.  And  then  we  flew  after  'em.  Oh,  honey  girl,  it  was 
just  a  lark.  I  laughed  till  I  cried — " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 

"And  you  didn't  see  my  dear  old  daddy  anywhere?" 

"No.  I  wish  I  had !  I'd  have  taken  the  loyal  old  rascal 
prisoner  and  made  you  keep  him  till  the  war's  over." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 359 

"It  is  over,  isn't  it,  dear?" 

"No." 

"Why,  you've  driven  the  army  back  in  a  panic  on  Wash- 
inton.  They'll  ask  for  peace,  won't  they?" 

"They  won't,  honey.  I  know  'era  too  well.  They'll 
more  than  likely  ask  for  a  million  volunteers." 

"It's  not  over,  then?" 

"No,  dear  little  mother.  I'll  be  honest  with  you.  Don't 
believe  silly  talk.  We're  in  for  a  long,  desperate  fight — 

"And  I've  been  so  happy  thinking  you'd  come  home — " 

"Your  home  will  be  with  me,  won't  it  ?" 

"Always." 

"All  right.  This  is  the  beginning  of  my  scheme  for  the 
duration  of  the  war.  I'm  going  to  get  you  a  map  of  Vir- 
ginia, showing  the  roads.  I'll  get  you  a  compass.  There'll 
always  be  a  little  farmhouse  somewhere  behind  my  head- 
quarters. Our  home  will  be  in  the  field  and  saddle  for  a 
while." 

He  kissed  his  babies  and  ate  his  supper  laughing  and 
joking  like  a  boy  of  nineteen.  The  table  cleared,  he  or- 
dered a  concert  for  their  entertainment. 

Bob,  the  leader  of  his  minstrels,  was  a  dandified  mulatto 
who  played  the  guitar,  the  second  was  a  whistler  and  the 
third  a  master  of  the  negro  dance,  the  back  step  and  the 
breakdown. 

Bob  tuned  his  guitar,  picked  his  strings  and  gazed  at 
the  ceiling.  He  was  apparently  selecting  the  first  piece. 
It  was  always  the  same,  his  favorite,  "Listen  to  the  Mock- 
ing Bird."  He  played  with  a  plaintive,  swaying  melody 
that  charmed  his  hearers.  The  whistler  amazed  them  with 
his  marvelous  imitation  of  birds  and  bird  calls.  The  room 
throbbed  with  every  note  of  the  garden,  field  and  wood. 

The  mother's  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles.     The  boy 


360 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

shouted.  The  baby  crooned.  The  first  piece  done,  the 
audience  burst  into  a  round  of  applause. 

Bob  gave  them  "Alabama"  next,  accompanied  by  the 
whistler  and  his  bird  chorus. 

Stuart  laughed  and  called  for  the  breakdown.  Bob 
begins  a  jig  on  his  guitar,  the  whistler  claps  and  the  sable 
dancer  edges  his  way  to  the  center  of  the  floor  in  little 
spasmodic  shuffles.  He  begins  with  his  heel  tap,  then  the 
toe,  then  in  leaps  and  whirls.  The  guitar  swelled  to  a 
steady  roar.  The  whistler  quickens  his  claps.  And 
Stuart's  boyish  laughter  rang  above  the  din. 

"Go  it,  boy!    Go  it!" 

The  dancer's  eyes  roll.  His  step  quickens.  He  cuts  the 
wildest  figures  in  a  frenzy  of  abandoned  joy.  With  a  leap 
through  the  door  he  is  gone.  The  guitar  stops  with  a 
sudden  twang  and  Stuart's  laughter  roars. 

And  then  he  gave  an  hour  to  play  with  his  children  be- 
fore a  mother's  lullaby  should  put  them  to  sleep.  He  got 
down  on  his  all  fours  and  little  Jeb  mounted  and  rode 
round  the  room  to  the  baby's  scream  of  joy.  He  lay  flat 
on  the  floor  with  the  baby  on  his  breast  and  let  her  pull 
his  beard  and  mustache  until  her  strength  failed. 

The  children  were  still  sound  asleep  when  they  sat  down 
and  ate  breakfast  before  day. 

At  the  first  streak  of  dawn  he  was  standing  beside  his 
horse  ready  for  the  dash  back  to  his  headquarters  and  the 
work  of  the  day. 

The  shadow  had  fallen  across  the  woman's  heart  again. 
He  saw  and  understood.  He  put  his  hand  under  her  chin 
and  lifted  it. 

"No  more  tears  now,  my  sweetheart." 

"I'll  try." 

"We  may  be  here  for  weeks." 

"There'll  be  another  fight  soon?" 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 361 

"I  think  not." 
"For  a  month?" 
"Not  for  a  long  time." 
"Thank  God!" 

A  far-off  look  stole  into  his  eyes. 

"It  will  be  a  good  one  though  when  it  comes,  I  reckon." 
"There  can  be  no  good  one — if  my  boy's  in  it." 
"Well,  I'll  be  in  it!" 
"Yes.     I  know." 

She  kissed  him  and  turned  back  into  the  house,  with  the 
old  fear  gripping  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  early  months  of  the  war  were  but  skirmishes. 
The  real  work  of  killing  and  maiming  the  flower  of 
the  race  had  not  begun. 

The  defeat  had  given  the  sad-eyed  President  unlimited 
power  to  draw  on  the  resources  of  the  nation  for  men  and 
money.  His  call  for  half  a  million  soldiers  met  with  in- 
stant response.  The  fighting  spirit  of  twenty-two  million 
Northern  people  had  been  roused.  They  felt  the  disgrace 
of  Bull  Run  and  determined  to  wipe  it  out  in  blood. 

Three  Northern  armies  were  hurled  on  the  South  in  a 
well-planned,  concerted  movement  to  take  Richmond. 
McDowell  marched  straight  down  to  Fredericksburg  with 
forty  thousand.  Fremont,  with  Milroy,  Banks  and 
Shields,  was  sweeping  through  the  Shenandoah  Valley. 
McClellan,  with  his  grand  army  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand  men,  had  moved  up  the  Peninsula  in  re- 
sistless force  until  he  lay  on  the  banks  of  the  Chickahominy 
within  sight  of  the  spires  of  Richmond. 

To  meet  these  three  armies  aggregating  a  quarter  of  a 
million  men,  the  South  could  marshall  barely  seventy  thou- 
sand. Jackson  was  despatched  with  eighteen  thousand  to 
baffle  the  armies  of  McDowell,  Fremont,  Milroy,  Shields 
and  Banks  in  the  Valley  and  prevent  their  union  with 
MeClellan. 

The  war  really  began  on  Sunday,  the  second  of  June, 

362 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  363 

1862,  when  Robert  E.  Lee  was  sent  to  the  front  to  take 
command  of  the  combined  army  of  seventy  thousand  men 
of  the  South. 

The  new  commander  with  consummate  genius  planned 
his  attack  and  flung  his  gray  lines  on  McClellan  with  sav- 
age power.  The  two  armies  fought  in  dense  thickets  often 
less  than  fifty  yards  apart.  Their  muskets  flashed  sheets 
of  yellow  flame.  The  sound  of  ripping  canvas,  the  fire  of 
small  arms  in  volleys,  could  no  longer  be  distinguished. 
The  sullen  roar  was  endless,  deafening,  appalling.  Over 
the  tops  of  oak,  pine,  beech,  ash  and  tangled  undergrowth 
came  the  flaming  thunder  of  two  great  armies  equally 
fearless,  the  flower  of  American  manhood  in  their  front 
ranks,  daring,  scorning  death,  fighting  hand  to  hand,  man 
to  man. 

The  people  in  the  churches  of  Richmond  as  they  prayed 
could  hear  the  awful  roar.  They  turned  their  startled 
faces  toward  the  battle.  It  rang  above  the  sob  of  organ 
and  the  chant  of  choir. 

The  hosts  in  blue  and  gray  charged  again  and  again 
through  the  tangle  of  mud  and  muck  and  blood  and  smoke 
and  death.  Bayonet  rang  on  bayonet.  They  fought  hand 
to  hand,  as  naked  savages  once  fought  with  bare  hands. 
The  roar  died  slowly  with  the  shadows  of  the  night,  until 
only  the  crack  of  a  rifle  here  and  there  broke  the  stillness. 

And  then  above  the  low  moans  of  the  wounded  and  dying 
came  the  distant  notes  of  the  church  bells  in  Richmond 
calling  men  and  women  again  to  the  house  of  God. 

There  was  no  shout  of  triumph — no  cheering  hosts — 
only  the  low  moan  of  death  and  the  sharp  cry  of  a  boy  in 
pain.  The  men  in  blue  could  have  moved  in  and  bivouaced 
on  the  ground  they  had  lost.  The  men  in  gray  had  no 
strength  left. 

The  dead  and  the  dying  were  everywhere.    The  wounded 


364 


were  crawling  through  the  mud  and  brush,  like  stricken 
animals ;  some  with  their  legs  broken ;  some  with  arms 
dangling  by  a  thread;  some  with  hideous  holes  torn  in 
their  faces. 

The  front  was  lighted  with  the  unclouded  splendor  of  a 
full  Southern  moon.  Down  every  dim  aisle  of  the  woods 
they  lay  in  awful,  dark  heaps.  In  the  fields  they  lay  with 
faces  buried  in  the  dirt  or  eyes  staring  up  at  the  stars, 
twisted,  torn,  mangled.  The  blue  and  the  gray  lay  side 
by  side  in  death,  as  they  had  fought  in  life.  The  pride 
and  glory  of  a  mighty  race  of  freemen. 

The  shadows  of  the  details  moved  in  the  moonlight,. 
They  were  opening  the  first  of  those  long,  deep  trenches. 
They  were  careful  in  these  early  days  of  war.  They  turned 
each  face  downward  as  they  packed  them  in.  The  grave 
diggers  could  not  then  throw  the  wet  dirt  into  their  eyes 
and  mouths.  Aching  hearts  in  far-off  homes  couldn't  see ; 
but  these  boys  still  had  hearts  within  their  breasts. 

The  fog-rimmed  lanterns  flickered  over  the  fields  peer- 
ing into  the  faces  on  the  ground. 

The  ambulance  corps  did  its  best  at  the  new  trade.  It 
was  utterly  inadequate  on  either  side.  It's  always  so  in 
war.  The  work  of  war  is  to  maim,  to  murder — not  to  heal 
or  save. 

The  long  line  of  creaking  wagons  began  to  move  into 
Richmond  over  the  mud-cut  roads.  Every  hospital  was 
filled.  The  empty  wagons  rolled  back  in  haste  over  the 
cobble  stones  and  out  on  the  muddy  roads  to  the  front 
again. 

At  the  hospital  doors  the  women  stood  in  huddled 
groups — wives,  sweethearts,  mothers,  sisters,  praying, 
hoping,  fearing,  shivering.  Far  away  in  the  field  hospi- 
tals, the  young  doctors  with  bare,  bloody  arms  were  busy 
with  saw  and  knife.  Boys  who  had  faced  death  in  battle 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 365 

without  a  tremor  stood  waiting  their  turn  trembling,  cry- 
ing, cursing.  They  could  see  the  piles  of  legs  and  arms 
rising  higher  as  the  doctors  hurled  them  from  the  quiver- 
ing bodies.  They  stretched  out  their  hands  in  the  darkness 
to  feel  the  touch  of  loved  ones.  They  must  face  this  hor- 
ror alone,  and  then  battle  through  life,  maimed  wrecks. 
They  peered  through  the  shadows  under  the  trees  where 
the  dead  were  piled  and  envied  them  their  sleep. 

The  armies  paused  next  day  to  gird  their  loins  for  the 
crucial  test.  Jackson  was  still  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley 
holding  three  armies  at  bay,  defeating  them  in  detail.  His 
swift  marches  had  so  paralyzed  his  enemies  that  McDow- 
ell's forty  thousand  men  lay  at  Fredericksburg  unable  to 
move. 

Lee  summoned  Stuart. 

When  the  conference  ended  the  young  Cavalry  Com- 
mander threw  himself  into  the  saddle  and  started  North- 
ward with  a  song.  Determined  to  learn  the  strength  of 
McClellan's  right  wing  and  confuse  his  opponent,  Lee  had 
sent  Stuart  on  the  most  daring  adventure  in  the  history  of 
cavalry  warfare.  Stuart  had  told  him  that  he  could  ride 
around  McClellan's  whole  army,  cut  his  communications 
and  strike  terror  in  his  rear. 

With  twelve  hundred  picked  horsemen,  fighting,  singing, 
dare-devil  riders,  Stuart  slipped  from  Lee's  lines  and 
started  toward  Fredericksburg. 

On  the  second  day  he  surprised  and  captured  the  Fed- 
eral pickets  without  a  shot.  He  dreaded  a  meeting  with 
the  Cavalry.  His  father-in-law,  General  Cooke,  was  in 
command  of  a  brigade  of  blue  riders.  He  thought  with  a 
moment's  pang  of  the  little  wife  at  home  praying  that 
they  should  never  meet.  Let  her  pray.  God  would  help 
her.  He  couldn't  let  such  a  thing  happen. 

He  suddenly  confronted  a  squadron  of  Federal  Cavalry. 


366 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

With  a  yell  his  troops  charged  and  cleared  the  field. 
They  must  ride  now  with  swifter  hoofbeat  than  ever.  The 
news  would  spread  and  avengers  would  be  on  their  heels. 
They  were  now  far  in  the  rear  of  McClellan's  grand  army. 
They  had  felt  out  his  right  wing  and  knew  to  a  mile  where 
its  lines  ended. 

They  dashed  toward  the  York  River  Railroad  which 
supplied  the  Northern  army,  surprised  the  company  hold- 
ing Tunstall's  Station,  took  them  prisoners,  cut  the  wires 
and  tore  up  the  tracks. 

On  his  turn  toward  Richmond  when  he  reached  the 
Chickahominy  River,  its  waters  were  swollen  and  he 
couldn't  cross.  He  built  a  bridge  out  of  the  timbers  of  a 
barn,  took  his  last  horse  over  and  destroyed  it,  as  the 
shout  of  a  division  of  Federal  Cavalry  was  heard  in  the 
distance. 

With  twelve  hundred  men  he  had  made  a  raid  which 
added  a  new  rule  to  cavalry  tactics.  He  had  ridden 
around  a  great  army,  covering  ninety  miles  in  fifty-six 
hours  with  the  loss  of  but  one  man.  He  had  established 
the  position  of  the  enemy,  destroyed  enormous  quantities 
of  war  material,  captured  a  hundred  and  sixty-five  prison- 
ers and  two  hundred  horses.  He  had  struck  terror  to  the 
hearts  of  a  sturdy  foe,  and  thrilled  the  South  with  new 
courage. 

Jackson's  victorious  little  army  joined  Lee  at  Games' 
Mill  on  the  twenty-seventh  of  June,  and  on  the  following 
day  McClellan  was  in  full  retreat. 

On  the  first  of  July  it  ended  at  Malvern  Hill  on  the 
banks  of  the  James.  Of  the  one  hundred  and  ten  thou- 
said  men  who  marched  in  battle  line  on  Richmond,  eighty- 
sis  thousand  only  reached  the  shelter  of  his  gunboats. 

The  first  great  battle  of  the  war  had  raged  from  the 
first  of  June  until  the  first  of  July.  Fifty  thousand  brave 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 367 

boys  were  killed  or  mangled  on  the  red  fields  of  death. 
Washington  was  in  gloom.  The  Grand  Army  of  more 
than  two  hundred  thousand  had  gone  down  in  defeat.  It 
was  incredible. 

Richmond  had  been  saved.  The  glory  of  Lee,  Jackson 
and  Stuart  filled  the  South  with  a  new  radiance.  But  the 
celebration  of  victory  was  in  minor  key.  Every  home  was 
in  mourning. 

Six  days  later  Stuart  once  more  clasped  his  wife  to 
his  heart.  It  had  been  a  month  since  he  had  seen  her. 
The  thunder  of  guns  she  had  heard  without  pause.  She 
knew  that  both  her  father  and  her  lover  were  somewhere 
in  the  roaring  hell  below  the  city.  Stuart  never  told  her 
how  close  they  had  come  to  a  charge  and  counter  charge 
at  the  battle  of  Games'  Mill. 

The  old,  tremulous  question  she  couldn't  keep  back: 

"You  didn't  see  my  daddy,  did  you,  dear?" 

Stuart  shouted  in  derision  at  the  idea. 

"Of  course  not,  honey  girl.  It's  not  written  in  the 
book  of  life.  Forget  the  silly  old  fear." 

"And  they  didn't  even  scratch  my  soldier  man?" 

"Never  a  scratch !" 

She  kissed  him  again. 

"You  know  I've  a  little  woman  praying  for  me  every 
day.  I  lead  a  charmed  life!" 

She  gazed  at  his  handsome,  bronzed  face. 

"I  believe  you  do,  dearest !" 


CHAPTER  XLI 

MC  CLELLAN  fell  before  the  genius  of  Lee,  and 
Pope  was  put  in  his  place. 

They  met  at  Second  Manassas.  The  new  gen- 
eral ended  his  brief  campaign  in  a  disaster  so  complete,  so 
appalling  that  it  struck  terror  to  the  heart  of  the  Nation. 
Lee  had  crushed  him  with  an  ease  so  amazing  that  Lincoln 
was  compelled  to  recall  McClellan  to  supreme  command. 
When  the  toll  of  the  Blood  Feud  was  again  reckoned 
twenty-five  thousand  more  of  our  brave  boys  lay  dead  or 
wounded  beneath  the  blazing  sun  of  the  South. 

The  Confederate  Government  now  believed  its  army  in- 
vincible, led  by  Lee.  In  spite  of  poor  equipment,  with  the 
men  half  clad  and  half  barefooted,  Lee  was  ordered  to 
invade  Maryland.  It  was  a  political  move,  undertaken 
without  the  approval  of  the  Commander. 

As  the  gray  lines  swept  Northward  to  cross  the  Poto- 
mac into  Maryland,  Lincoln  was  jubilant.  To  Hay,  his 
young  secretary,  he  whispered: 

"We've  got  them  now,  boy.  We've  got  them !  The  war 
must  speedily  end.  Lee  can  never  get  into  Maryland  with 
fifty  thousand  effective  men.  The  river  will  be  behind 
them.  I'll  have  McClellan  on  him  with  a  hundred  thou- 
sand well-shod,  well-fed,  well-armed  soldiers  and  the  finest 
equipment  of  artillery  that  ever  thundered  into  battle. 

368 


THE_MAN_IN  GRAY 369 

McClellan's  on  his  mettle.  His  army  will  fight  like  tigers 
to  show  their  faith  in  him.  They  were  all  against  me  when 
I  removed  him.  Now  they'll  show  me  something.  Mark 
my  words." 

Luck  was  with  McClellan.  By  an  accident  Lee's  plan 
of  campaign  had  fallen  into  his  hands.  Yet  it  was  too 
late  to  forestall  his  first  master  stroke.  In  the  face  of  a 
hostile  army  of  twice  his  numbers  Lee  divided  his  forces, 
threw  Jackson's  corps  on  Harper's  Ferry,  captured  the 
town,  Arsenal  and  Rifle  Works,  twelve  thousand  five  hun- 
dred prisoners  and  vast  stores  of  war  material.  Among 
the  booty  taken  were  new  blue  uniforms  with  which  Jack- 
son promptly  clothed  his  men. 

Lee  met  McClellan  at  Antietam  and  waited  for  Jack- 
son to  arrive  from  Harper's  Ferry. 

When  McClellan's  artillery  opened  in  the  gray  dawn, 
more  than  sixteen  thousand  of  Lee's  footsore  men  had 
fallen  along  the  line  of  march  unable  to  reach  the  battle- 
field. The  Union  Commander  was  massing  eighty-seven 
thousand  men  behind  his  flaming  batteries.  Lee  could 
count  on  but  thirty-seven  thousand.  He  gave  McClellan 
battle  with  his  little  army  hemmed  in  on  one  side  by  Antie- 
tam Creek  and  on  the  other  by  the  sweeping  Potomac. 

The  President  in  Washington  received  the  news  of  the 
positions  of  the  armies  and  their  chances  of  success  with 
exultation.  As  the  sun  rose  a  glowing  dull  red  ball  of 
fire  breaking  through  the  smoke  of  the  artillery,  Hooker's 
division  swept  into  action  and  drove  the  first  line  of  Lee's 
men  into  the  woods.  Here  they  rallied  and  began  to  mow 
down  the  charging  masses  with  deadly  aim.  For  two 
hours  the  sullen  fight  raged  in  the  woods  without  yielding 
an  inch  on  either  side.  Hooker  fell  wounded.  He  called 
for  aid.  Mansfield  answered  and  fell  dead  as  he  deployed 
his  men.  Sedgwick's  Corps  charged  and  were  caught  in 


370  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

a  trap  between  two  Confederate  brigades  concealed  and 
massed  to  meet  them.  Sedgwick  was  wounded  and  his 
command  barely  saved  from  annihilation. 

While  this  struggle  raged  on  the  Union  right,  the  cen- 
ter saw  a  bloodier  tragedy.  French  and  Richardson 
charged  the  Confederate  position.  A  sunken  road  crossed 
the  field  over  which  they  marched.  For  four  tragic  hours 
the  men  in  gray  held  this  sunken  road  until  it  was  piled 
with  their  bodies.  When  the  final  charge  of  massed  blue 
took  it,  they  found  to  their  amazement  that  but  three  hun- 
dred living  men  had  been  holding  it  for  an  hour  against 
the  assaults  of  five  thousand.  So  perfect  was  the  faith  of 
those  gray  soldiers  in  Robert  E.  Lee  they  died  as  if  it 
were  the  order  of  the  day.  It  was  simply  fate.  Their 
Commander  could  make  no  mistake. 

Burnsides  swung  his  reinforced  division  around  the 
woods  and  pushed  up  the  heights  against  Sharpsburg  to 
cut  Lee's  only  line  of  retreat.  He  forced  the  thin,  gray 
lines  before  him  through  the  streets  of  the  village.  On 
its  outer  edge  he  suddenly  confronted  a  mass  of  men  clad 
in  their  own  blue  uniform. 

How  had  these  men  gotten  here? 

He  was  not  long  in  doubt.  The  blue  line  suddenly 
flashed  a  red  wave  squarely  in  their  faces.  It  was  Jack- 
son's Corps  from  Harper's  Ferry  in  their  new  uniforms. 
The  shock  threw  the  Union  men  into  confusion,  a  desperate 
charge  drove  them  out  of  Sharpsburg,  and  Lee's  army 
camped  on  the  field  with  the  dead. 

For  fourteen  hours  five  hundred  guns  and  a  hundred 
thousand  muskets  thundered  and  hissed  their  message  of 
blood.  When  night  fell  more  than  twenty  thousand  of 
our  noblest  men  lay  dead  and  wounded  on  the  field. 

Lee  skillfully  withdrew  his  army  across  the  Potomac. 
Safe  in  Virginia  he  rallied  his  shattered  forces  while  he 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 371 

sent  Stuart  once  more  in  a  daring  ride  around  McClellan's 
army. 

Again  McClellan  fell  before  the  genius  of  Lee.  Burn- 
sides  was  put  in  his  place. 

They  met  at  Fredericksburg.  Burnsides,  the  courtly, 
polished  gentleman,  crossed  the  Rappahannock  River  and 
charged  the  hills  on  which  Lee's  grim,  gray  men  had  en- 
trenched. His  magnificent  army  marched  into  a  death 
trap.  Lee's  batteries  had  been  trained  to  rake  the  field 
from  three  directions. 

Five  times  the  Union  hosts  charged  these  crescent  hills 
and  five  times  they  were  rolled  back  in  waves  of  blood.  A 
fierce  freezing  wind  sprang  up  from  the  North.  The  des- 
perate Union  Commander  thought  still  to  turn  defeat  into 
victory  and  ordered  the  sixth  charge. 

The  men  in  blue  pulled  down  their  caps  and  charged 
once  more  into  the  jaws  of  death.  The  lines  as  they  ad- 
vanced snatched  up  the  frozen  bodies  of  their  comrades, 
carried  them  to  the  front,  stacked  the  corpses  into  long 
piles  for  bulwarks,  dropped  low  and  fought  behind  them. 
In  vain.  The  gray  hills  roared  and  blazed,  roared  and 
blazed  with  increasing  fury.  Darkness  came  at  last  and 
drew  a  mantle  of  mercy  over  the  scene. 

The  men  in  blue  planted  the  frozen  bodies  of  their  dead 
along  the  outer  line  as  dummy  sentinels  and  crept  through 
the  shadows  across  the  river  shattered,  broken,  crushed. 
They  left  their  wounded.  Through  the  long  hours  of  the 
freezing  night  the  pitiful  cries  came  to  the  boys  in  gray  on 
the  wings  of  the  fierce  North  winds.  They  crawled  out 
into  the  darkness  here  and  there  and  held  a  canteen  to  the 
lips  of  a  dying  foe. 

At  dawn  they  looked  and  saw  the  piles  of  the  slain 
wrapped  in  white  shrouds  of  snow.  The  shivering,  ragged, 


372 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

gray  figures,  thinly  clad,  swept  down  the  hill,  stripped 
the  dead  and  shook  the  frost  from  the  warm  clothes. 

Burnsides  fell  before  the  genius  of  Lee  and  Hooker 
was  put  in  his  place. 

Fighting  Joe  Hooker  they  called  him.  At  Chancellors- 
ville  a  few  months  later  he  led  his  reorganized  army  across 
the  same  river  and  threw  it  on  Lee  with  supreme  confidence 
in  the  results.  He  led  an  army  of  one  hundred  and  thirty 
thousand  men  in  seven  grand  divisions  backed  by  four  hun- 
dred and  forty-eight  great  guns. 

Lee,  still  on  the  hills  behind  Fredericksburg,  had  sixty- 
two  thousand  men  and  one  hundred  and  seventy  guns.  He 
had  sent  Longstreet's  corps  into  Tennessee. 

Hooker  threw  the  flower  of  his  army  across  the  river 
seven  miles  above  Fredericksburg  to  flank  Lee  and  strike 
him  from  the  rear  while  the  remainder  of  his  army  crossed 
in  front  and  between  the  two  he  would  crush  the  Confed- 
erate army  as  an  eggshell. 

But  the  unexpected  happened.  Lee  was  not  only  a  stark 
fighter.  He  was  a  supreme  master  of  the  art  of  war.  He 
understood  Hooker's  move  from  the  moment  it  began.  His 
gray  army  had  already  slipped  out  of  his  trenches  and 
were  feeling  their  way  through  the  tangled  vines  and  under- 
brush with  sure,  ominous  tread.  In  this  wilderness  Hook- 
er's four  hundred  guns  would  be  as  useless  as  his  own 
hundred  and  seventy.  It  would  be  a  hand-to-hand  fight  in 
the  tangled  brush.  The  gray  veteran  was  a  dead  shot 
and  he  was  creeping  through  his  own  native  woods.  On 
this  beautiful  May  morning,  Lee,  Jackson,  and  Stuart  met 
in  conference  before  the  battle  opened.  The  plan  was 
chosen.  Lee  would  open  the  battle  and  hold  Hooker  at 
close  range.  Jackson  would  "retreat."  Out  of  sight,  he 
would  turn,  march  swiftly  ten  miles  around  their  right 
wing  and  smash  it  before  sundown. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 373 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  while  Lee  held  Hooker's 
front,  Jackson's  corps  crept  into  position  in  Hooker's 
rear.  The  shrill  note  of  a  bugle  rang  from  the  woods  and 
the  yelling  gray  lines  of  death  swept  down  on  their  unsus- 
pecting foe.  Without  support  the  shattered  right  wing 
was  crushed,  crumpled  and  rolled  back  in  confusion. 

At  eight  o'clock  Jackson,  pressing  forward  in  the  twi- 
light, was  mortally  wounded  by  his  own  men  and  Stuart 
took  his  command.  The  gay,  young  cavalier  placed  him- 
self at  the  head  of  Jackson's  corps  and  charged  Hooker's 
disorganized  army.  Waving  his  black  plumed  hat  above 
his  handsome,  bearded  face,  he  chanted  with  boyish  gaiety 
an  improvised  battle  song: 

"Old  Joe  Hooker, 
Won't  you  come  out  o'  the  Wilderness?" 

His  men  swept  the  field  and  as  Hooker's  army  retreated 
Lee  rode  to  the  front  to  congratulate  Stuart.  At  sight  of 
his  magnificent  figure  wreathed  in  smohe  his  soldiers  went 
wild.  Above  the  roar  of  battle  rang  their  cheers : 

"Lee!    Lee!    Lee!" 

From  line  to  line,  division  to  division,  the  word  leaped 
until  the  wounded  and  the  dying  joined  its  chorus. 

The  picket  lines  were  so  close  that  night  in  the  woods 
they  could  talk  to  one  another.  The  Southerners  were 
chaffing  the  Yanks  over  their  many  defeats,  when  a  Yankee 
voice  called  through  the  night  his  defense  of  the  war  to 
date: 

"Ah,  Johnnie,  shut  up — you  make  me  tired.  You're  not 
such  fighters  as  ye  think  ye  are.  Swap  generals  with  us 
and  we'll  come  over  and  lick  hell  out  of  you !" 

There  was  silence  for  a  while  and  then  a  Confederate 
chuckled  to  his  mate: 


374 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"I'm  damned  if  they  mightn't,  too !" 

The  morning  dawned  at  last  after  the  battle  and  they 
began  to  bury  the  dead  and  care  for  the  wounded.  Their 
agonies  had  been  horrible.  Some  had  fallen  on  Friday, 
thousands  on  Saturday.  It  was  now  Monday.  Through 
miles  of  dark,  tangled  woods  in  the  pouring  rain  they  still 
lay  groaning  and  dying. 

And  over  all  the  wings  of  bu/zards  hovered. 

The  keen  eyes  of  the  vultures  had  watched  them  fall, 
poised  high  as  the  battle  raged.  The  woods  had  been 
swept  again  and  again  by  fire.  Many  of  the  bodies  were 
black  and  charred.  Some  of  the  wounded  had  been  burned 
to  death.  Their  twisted  bodies  and  distorted  features  told 
the  story.  The  sickening  odor  of  roasted  human  flesh  yet 
filled  the  air. 

It  was  late  at  night  on  the  day  after,  before  the  wounded 
had  all  been  moved.  The  surgeons  with  sleeves  rolled  high, 
their  arms  red,  their  shirts  soaked,  bent  over  their  task 
through  every  hour  of  the  black  night  until  legs  and  arms 
were  piled  in  heaps  ten  feet  high  beside  each  operating 
table. 

Thirty  thousand  magnificent  men  had  been  killed  and 
mangled. 

The  report  from  Chancellorsville  drifted  slowly  and 
ominously  northward.  The  White  House  was  still.  The 
dead  were  walking  beside  the  lonely,  tall  figure  who  paced 
the  floor  in  dumb  anguish,  pausing  now  and  then  at  the 
window  to  look  toward  the  hills  of  Virginia. 

Lee's  fame  now  filled  the  world  and  the  NortH  shivered 
at  the  sound  of  it. 

Volunteering  had  ceased.  But  the  cannon  were  still 
calling  for  fodder.  The  draft  was  applied.  And  when  it 
was  resisted  in  fierce  riots,  the  soldiers  trained  their  guns 
on  their  own  people.  The  draft  wheel  was  turned  by  bayo- 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 375 

nets  and  the  ranks  of  the  army  filled  with  fresh  young 
bodies  to  be  mangled. 

Hooker  fell  before  Lee's  genius  and  Meade  took  his 
place. 

The  Confederate  Government,  flushed  with  its  costly 
victories,  once  more  sought  a  political  sensation  by  the 
invasion  of  the  North.  Lee  marched  his  army  of  veterans 
into  Pennsylvania. 

At  Gettysburg  he  met  Meade. 

The  first  day  the  Confederates  won.  They  drove  the 
blue  army  back  through  the  streets  of  the  village  and  their 
gallant  General,  John  F.  Reynolds,  was  killed. 

The  second  day  was  one  of  frightful  slaughter.  The 
Union  army  at  its  close  had  lost  twenty  thousand  men, 
the  Confederate  fifteen  thousand. 

The  moon  rose  and  flooded  the  rocky  field  of  blood  and 
death  with  silent  glory.  From  every  shadow  and  from 
every  open  space  through  the  hot  breath  of  the  night 
came  the  moans  of  thousands  and  high  above  their  chorus 
rang  the  cries  for  water. 

No  succor  could  be  given.  The  Confederates  were  mass- 
ing their  artillery  on  Seminary  Ridge.  The  Union  legions 
were  burrowing  and  planting  new  batteries. 

Fifteen  thousand  helpless,  wounded  men  lay  on  the  field 
through  the  long  hours  of  the  night. 

At  ten  o'clock  a  wounded  man  began  to  sing  one  of  the 
old  hymns  of  Zion  whose  words  had  come  down  the  ages 
wet  with  tears  and  winged  with  human  hopes.  In  five 
minutes  ten  thousand  voices,  from  blue  and  gray,  had 
joined.  Some  of  them  quivered  with  agony.  Some  of  them 
trembled  with  a  dying  breath.  For  two  hours  the  hills 
echoed  with  the  unearthly  music. 

At  a  council  of  war  Longstreet  begged  Lee  to  withdraw 
from  Gettysburg  and  pick  more  favorable  ground.  Rein- 


376 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

forced  by  the  arrival  of  Pickett's  division  of  fifteen  thou- 
sand fresh  men  and  Stuart's  Cavalry,  he  decided  to  renew 
the  battle  at  dawn. 

The  guns  opened  at  the  crack  of  day.  For  seven  hours 
the  waves  of  blood  ebbed  and  flowed. 

At  noon  there  was  a  lull. 

At  one  o'clock  a  puff  of  white  smoke  flashed  from  Semi- 
nary Ridge.  The  signal  of  the  men  in  gray  had  pealed  its 
death  call.  Along  two  miles  on  this  crest  they  had  planted 
a  hundred  and  fifty  guns.  Suddenly  two  miles  of  flame 
burst  from  the  hills  in  a  single  fiery  wreath.  The  Federal 
guns  answered  until  the  heavens  were  a  hell  of  bursting, 
screaming,  roaring  shells. 

At  three  o'clock  the  storm  died  away  and  the  smoke 
lifted. 

Pickett's  men  were  deploying  in  the  plain  to  charge  the 
heights  of  Cemetery  Ridge.  Fifteen  thousand  heroic  men 
were  forming  their  line  to  rush  a  hill  on  whose  crest  lay 
seventy-five  thousand  intrenched  soldiers  backed  by  four 
hundred  guns. 

Pickett's  bands  played  as  on  parade.  The  gray  ranks 
dressed  on  their  colors.  And  then  across  the  plain,  with 
banners  flying,  they  swept  and  climbed  the  hill.  The  ranks 
closed  as  men  fell  in  wide  gaps.  Not  a  man  faltered. 
They  fell  and  lay  when  they  fell.  Those  who  stood  moved 
on  and  on.  A  handful  reached  the  Union  lines  on  the 
heights.  Armistead  with  a  hundred  men  broke  through, 
lifted  his  red  battle  flag  and  fell  mortally  wounded.  The 
gray  wave  in  sprays  of  blood  ebbed  down  the  hill,  and  the 
battle  ended.  Meade  had  lost  twenty-three  thousand  men 
and  seventeen  generals.  Lee  had  lost  twenty  thousand 
men  and  fourteen  generals. 

The  swollen  Potomac  was  behind  Lee  and  his  defeated 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 377 

army.  So  sure  was  Stanton  of  the  end  that  he  declared  to 
the  President: 

"If  a  single  regiment  of  Lee's  army  ever  gets  back  into 
Virginia  in  an  organized  condition  it  will  prove  that  I  am 
totally  unfit  to  be  Secretary  of  War." 

The  impossible  happened. 

Lee  got  back  into  Virginia  with  every  regiment  march- 
ing to  quick  step  and  undaunted  spirit.  He  crossed  the 
swollen  Potomac,  his  army  in  fighting  trim,  every  gun  in- 
tact, carrying  thousands  of  fat  Pennsylvania  cattle  and 
four  thousand  prisoners  of  war  taken  on  the  bloody  hills 
of  Gettysburg. 

The  rejoicing  in  Washington  was  brief.  Meade  fell  be- 
fore the  genius  of  Lee,  and  Grant,  the  stark  fighter  of  the 
West,  took  his  place. 

The  new  Commander  was  granted  full  authority  over 
all  the  armies  of  the  Union.  He  placed  Sherman  at  Chat- 
tanooga in  command  of  a  hundred  thousand  men  and  or- 
dered him  to  invade  Georgia.  He  sent  Butler  with  an  army 
of  fifty  thousand  up  the  Peninsula  against  Richmond  on 
the  line  of  McClellan's  old  march.  He  raised  the  army  of 
the  Potomac  to  a  hundred  and  forty  thousand  effective 
fighting  soldiers,  placed  Phil  Sheridan  in  command  of  his 
cavalry,  put  himself  at  the  head  of  this  magnificent  army 
and  faced  Lee  on  the  banks  of  the  Rapidan.  He  was  but 
a  few  miles  from  Chancellorsville  where  Hooker's  men  had 
baptized  the  earth  in  blood  the  year  before. 

A  new  draft  of  five  hundred  thousand  had  given  Grant 
unlimited  men  for  the  coming  whirlwind.  His  army  was 
the  flower  of  Northern  manhood.  He  commanded  the 
best-equipped  body  of  soldiers  ever  assembled  under  the 
flag  of  the  Union.  His  baggage  train  was  sixty  miles 
long  and  would  have  stretched  the  entire  distance  from  his 
crossing  at  the  Rapidan  to  Richmond. 


378 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Lee's  army  had  been  recruited  to  its  normal  strength 
of  sixty-two  thousand.  Again  the  wily  Southerner  antici- 
pated the  march  of  his  foe  and  crept  into  the  tangled 
wilderness  to  meet  him  where  his  superiority  would  be  of  no 
avail. 

Confident  of  his  resistless  power  Grant  threw  his  army 
across  the  Rapidan  and  plunged  into  the  wilderness.  From 
the  dawn  of  the  first  day  until  far  into  the  night  the  con- 
flict raged.  As  darkness  fell  Lee  had  pushed  the  blue  lines 
back  a  hundred  }rards,  captured  four  guns  and  a  number 
of  prisoners.  At  daylight  they  were  at  it  again.  As  the 
Confederate  right  wing  crumpled  and  rolled  back,  Long- 
street  arrived  on  the  scene  and  threw  his  corps  into  the 
breach. 

Lee  himself  rode  forward  to  lead  the  charge  and  restore 
his  line.  At  sight  of  him,  from  thousands  of  parched 
throats  rose  the  cries : 

"Lee  to  the  rear !" 

"Go  back,  General  Lee !" 

"We'll  settle  this !" 

They  refused  to  move  until  their  leader  had  withdrawn. 
And  then  with  a  savage  yell  they  charged  and  took  the 
field. 

Lee  sent  Longstreet  to  turn  Grant's  left  as  Jackson  had 
done  at  Chancellorsville.  The  movement  was  executed  with 
brilliant  success.  Hancock's  line  was  smashed  and  driven 
back  on  his  second  defenses.  Wardsworth  at  the  head  of 
his  division  was  mortally  wounded  and  fell  into  Long- 
street's  hands.  At  the  height  of  his  triumph  in  a  move- 
ment that  must  crumple  Grant's  army  back  on  the  banks  of 
the  river,  Longstreet  fell,  shot  by  his  own  men.  In  the 
change  of  commanders  the  stratagem  failed  in  its  big 
purpose. 

In  two  days  Grant  lost  sixteen  thousand  six  hundred 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  879 

men,  a  greater  toll  than  Hooker  paid  when  he  retreated 

in  despair. 

Grant  merely  chewed  the  end  of  his  big  cigar,  turned  to 

his  lieutenant  and  said: 

"It's  all  right,  Wilson.    We'll  fight  again." 

The  two  armies  lay  in  their  trenches  watching  each  other 

in  grim  silence. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

IN  Lee's  simple  tent  on  the  battlefield  amid  the  ghostly 
trees  of  the  wilderness  his  Adjutant-General,  Walter 
Taylor,  sat  writing  rapidly. 

Sam,  his  ebony  face  shining,  stood  behind  trying  to  look 
over  his  shoulder.  He  couldn't  make  it  out  and  his  curi- 
osity got  the  better  of  him. 

"What  dat  yer  writin'  so  hard,  Gin'l  Taylor?" 

Without  lifting  his  head  the  Adjutant  continued  to 
write. 

"Orders  of  promotion  for  gallantry  in  battle,  Sam." 

"Is  yer  gwine  ter  write  one  fer  my  young  Marse  Rob- 
bie?" * 

Taylor  paused  and  looked  up.  The  light  of  admiration 
overspread  his  face. 

"General  Lee  never  promotes  his  sons  or  allows  them  on 
his  staff,  Sam.  General  Custis  Lee,  General  Rooney  Lee> 
and  Captain  Robbie  won  their  spurs  without  a  word  from 
him.  They  won  by  fighting." 

"Yassah!  Dey  sho's  been  some  fightin'  in  dis  here 
wilderness.  Hopes  ter  God  we  git  outen  here  pretty  quick. 
Gitten  too  close  tergedder  ter  suit  me." 

The  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs  rang  out  in  the  little 
clearing  in  front  of  the  tent. 

Taylor  looked  up  again. 

"See  if  that's  Stuart.  General  Lee's  expecting  him." 

380 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 381 

Sam  peered  out  the  door  of  the  tent. 

"Dey  ain't  no  plume  in  his  hat  an'  dey  ain't  no  banjo 
man  wid  him.  Nasah.  Tain't  Gin'l  Stuart." 

"All  right.     Pull  up  a  stool." 

"  Yassah !" 

Sam  unfolded  a  camp  stool  and  placed  it  at  the  table. 
A  sentinel  approached  and  called : 

"Senator  William  C.  Rives  of  the  Confederate  Congress 
to  see  General  Lee." 

Taylor  rose. 

"Show  him  in." 

The  Senator  entered  with  a  quick,  nervous  excitement 
he  could  not  conceal. 

"Colonel  Taylor — " 

"Senator." 

The  men  clasped  hands  and  Taylor  continued  to  watch 
the  nervous  manner  of  his  caller. 

"My  coming  from  Richmond  is  no  doubt  a  surprise?" 

"Naturally.  We're  in  pretty  close  quarters  with  Grant 
here  to-night — " 

Rives  raised  his  hand  in  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"No  closer  than  our  Government  in  Richmond  is  with 
the  end  at  this  moment,  in  my  judgment.  I  couldn't  wait. 
I  had  to  come  to-night.  You  have  called  an  informal  coun- 
cil as  I  requested?" 

"The  moment  I  got  your  message  an  hour  ago." 

Taylor  caught  his  excitement  and  bent  close. 

"What  is  it,  Senator?" 

Rives  hesitated,  glanced  at  the  doors  of  the  tent  and 
answered  rapidly. 

"The  Confederate  Congress  has  just  held  a  secret  ses- 
sion without  the  knowledge  of  President  Davis — " 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  letter  and  handed  it  to  the 
Adjutant. 


382 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"You  will  see  from  this  letter  of  the  presiding  officer 
ray  credentials.  They  have  sent  me  as  their  agent  on  an 
important  mission  to  General  Lee." 

He  paused  as  Taylor  carefully  read  the  letter. 

"How  soon  can  I  see  him?" 

"I'm  expecting  him  in  a  few  minutes,"  Taylor  answered. 
"He's  riding  on  the  front  lines  trying  to  feel  out  Grant's 
next  move.  He  is  very  anxious  over  it." 

"This  battle  was  desperate?"  Rives  asked  nervously. 

"Terrific." 

"Our  losses  in  the  two  days?" 

"More  than  ten  thousand." 

"Merciful  God—" 

"Grant's  losses  were  far  greater,"  Taylor  added  briskly. 

"No  matter,  Taylor,  no  matter!"  he  cried  in  anguish, 
springing  to  his  feet.  He  fought  for  control  of  his  emo- 
tions and  hurried  on. 

"The  maws  of  those  cannon  now  are  insatiate!  We 
can't  afford  to  lose  ten  thousand  men  from  our  thin  ranks 
in  two  days.  If  your  army  suspected  for  one  moment  the 
real  situation  in  Richmond,  they'd  quit  and  we'd  be  lost." 

"They  only  ask  for  General  Lee's  orders,  Senator. 
Their  faith  in  our  leader  is  sublime." 

"And  that's  our  only  hope,"  Rives  hastened  to  add. 
"General  Lee  may  save  us.  And  he  is  the  only  man  who 
can  do  it." 

He  stopped  and  studied  Taylor  closely.  He  spoke  with 
some  diffidence. 

"The  faith  of  his  officers  in  him  remains  absolutely  un- 
shaken ?" 

"They  worship  him." 

"My  appeal  will  be  solely  to  him.  But  I  may  need 
help." 

"I've  asked  Alexander  and  Gordon  to  come.     General 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 383 

Gordon  did  great  work  to-day.  It  was  his  command  that 
broke  Hancock's  lines  and  took  prisoners.  I've  just  slated 
him  for  further  promotion.  Stuart  is  already  on  the  way 
here  to  report  the  situation  on  the  right  where  his  cavalry 
is  operating." 

The  ring  of  two  horses'  hoofs  echoed. 

"If  Stuart  will  only  back  me !"  Rives  breathed. 

Outside  the  Cavalry  Commander  was  having  trouble 
with  Sweeney,  his  minstrel  follower,  an  expert  banjo 
player. 

Stuart  laughed  heartily  at  his  fears. 

"Come  on,  Sweeney.     Don't  be  a  fool." 

The  minstrel  man  still  held  back  and  Stuart  continued 
to  urge. 

"Come  on  in,  Sweeney.  Don't  be  bashful.  I  promised 
you  shall  see  General  Lee  and  you  shall.  Come  on !" 

Taylor  and  Rives  stood  in  the  door  of  the  tent  watch- 
ing the  conflict. 

"Never  be  afraid  of  a  great  man,  Sweeney!"  Stuart 
went  on.  "The  greater  the  man  the  easier  it  is  to  get 
along  with  him.  General  Lee  wears  no  scarlet  in  his  coat, 
no  plume  in  his  hat,  no  gold  braid  on  his  uniform.  He's 
as  plain  as  a  gray  mouse — " 

Stuart  laughed  and  whispered : 

"He's  too  great  to  need  anything  to  mark  his  rank. 
But  he  never  frowns  on  my  gay  colors." 

"He  knows,"  Taylor  rejoined,  "that  it's  your  way  of 
telling  the  glory  of  the  cause." 

"Sure !  He  just  laughs  at  my  foolishness  and  gives  me 
an  order  to  lick  a  crowd  that  outnumbers  me,  three  to 
one." 

He  took  hold  of  Sweeney's  arm. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  old  boy.  Marse  Robert  won't  frown 
on  your  banjo.  He'll  just  smile  as  he  recalls  what  the 


384  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

cavalry  did  in  our  last  battle.  Minstrel  man,  make  your- 
self at  home." 

Sweeney  timidly  touched  the  strings,  and  Stuart  wheeled 
toward  Rives. 

"Well,  Senator,  how  goes  it  in  Richmond?" 

Rives  answered  with  eager  anxiety.  His  words  were  not 
spoken  in  despair  but  with  an  undertone  of  desperate  ap- 
peal. 

"Dark  days  have  come,  General  Stuart.  And  great 
events  are  pending.  Events  of  the  utmost  importance  to 
the  army,  to  the  country,  to  General  Lee." 

"Just  say  General  Lee  and  let  it  go  at  that,"  Stuart 
laughed.  "He  is  the  army  and  the  country." 

He  turned  to  Taylor. 

"Where's  Marse  Robert?" 

"Inspecting  the  lines.  He  fears  a  movement  to  turn 
our  flank  at  Spottsylvania  Court  House." 

"My  men  are  right  there,  watching  like  owls.  They'll 
catch  the  first  rustle  of  a  leaf  by  Sheridan's  cavalry." 

"I  hope  so." 

"Never  fear.  Well,  Sweeney,  while  we  wait  for  General 
Lee,  Senator  Rives  needs  a  little  cheer.  We've  medicine 
in  that  box  for  every  ill  that  man  is  heir  to.  Things  look 
black  in  Richmond,  he  tells  us.  All  right.  Give  us  the  old 
familiar  tune — Hard  Times  and  Wuss  Er  Comin'! — Go 
it!" 

Sweeney  touched  his  strings  sharply. 

"You  don't  mind,  sir?"  he  asked  Taylor. 

"Certainly  not.    I  like  it." 

Sentinels,  orderlies,  aides  and  scouts  gathered  around 
the  door  as  Sweeney  played  and  sang  with  Stuart.  The 
Cavalryman's  spirit  was  contagious.  Before  the  song 
had  died  away,  they  were  all  singing  the  chorus  in  subdued 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 385 

tones.  Sweeney  ended  with  Stuart's  favorite — Rock  of 
Ages. 

General  John  B.  Gordon  joined  the  group,  followed  by 
General  E.  P.  Alexander. 

Taylor  called  the  generals  together. 

"Senator  Rives,  gentlemen,  is  the  bearer  of  an  impor- 
tant message  from  the  Confederate  Congress  to  General 
Lee.  I  have  asked  you  informally  to  join  him  in  this 
meeting." 

Rives  entered  his  appeal. 

"I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  Help  me  to-night  in  paying 
the  highest  tribute  to  General  Lee  in  our  power." 

Gordon  responded  promptly. 

"We  shall  honor  ourselves  in  honoring  him,  sir." 

"Always,"  Alexander  agreed. 

Rives  plunged  into  the  heart  of  his  mission. 

"Gentlemen,  so  desperate  is  the  situation  of  the  South 
that  our  only  hope  lies  in  our  great  Commander.  The 
Confederate  Congress  has  sent  me  to  offer  him  the  Dicta- 
torship— " 

"You  don't  mean  it?"  Stuart  exploded. 

"Will  you  back  me?" 

The  Cavalry  leader  grasped  his  hand. 

"Yours  to  count  on,  sir!" 

"Yes,"  Gordon  joined. 

"We'll  back  you!"  Alexander  cried. 

Rives'  face  brightened. 

"If  he  will  only  accept.  The  question  is  how  to  ap- 
proach him  ?" 

"It  must  be  done  with  the  utmost  care,"  Alexander 
warned. 

"Exactly."  Rives  nodded.  "Shall  I  announce  to  him 
at  once  the  vote  of  Congress  conferring  on  him  the  supreme 
power?" 


386 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Not  if  you  can  approach,  him  more  carefully,"  Alex- 
ander cautioned. 

"I  can  first  propose  that  as  Commanding  General  he 
might  accept  the  peace  proposals  which  Francis  Preston 
Blair  has  brought  from  Washington — " 

"What  kind  of  peace  proposals?"  Gorden  asked 
sharply. 

"He  proposes  to  end  the  war  immediately  by  an  armis- 
tice, and  arrange  for  the  joint  invasion  of  Mexico  by  the 
combined  armies  of  the  North  and  South  under  the  com- 
mand of  General  Lee." 

Alexander  snapped  at  the  suggestion. 

"By  all  means  suggest  the  armistice  first.  General  Lee 
won  his  spurs  in  Mexico.  The  plan  might  fire  his  imagina- 
tion— as  it  would  have  fired  the  soul  of  Cassar  or  Na- 
poleon. If  he  refuses  to  go  over  the  head  of  Davis,  you 
can  then  announce  the  vote  of  Congress  giving  him  su- 
preme power." 

The  general  suddenly  paused  at  the  familiar  sound  of 
Traveler's  hoofbeat. 

The  officers  stood  and  saluted  as  Lee  entered.  He  was 
dressed  in  his  full  field  gray  uniform  of  immaculate  cut 
and  without  spot.  He  wore  his  sword,  high  boots  and 
spurs  and  his  field  glasses  were  thrown  across  his  broad 
shoulders. 

He  glanced  at  the  group  in  slight  surprise  and  drew 
Stuart  aside. 

"I  sent  for  you,  General  Stuart,  to  say  that  I  am  ex- 
pecting a  courier  at  any  moment  who  may  report  that 
General  Grant  will  move  on  Spottsylvania  Court  House." 

He  paused  in  deep  thought. 

"If  so,  Sheridan  will  throw  the  full  force  of  his  cavalry 
on  your  lines,  to  turn  our  right  and  circle  Richmond." 

Stuart's  body  stiffened. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 387 

"I'm  ready,  sir.  He  may  reach  Yellow  Tavern.  He'll 
never  go  past  it." 

In  low,  tense  words  Lee  said: 

"I'm  depending  on  you,  sir." 

Stuart  saluted  in  silence. 

Lee  turned  back  into  the  group  and  Taylor  explained: 

"I  have  called  an  informal  meeting  at  the  request  of 
Senator  Rives." 

Lee  smiled. 

"Oh,  I  see.    A  council  of  both  War  and  State." 

Rives  came  forward  and  the  Commander  grasped  his 
hand. 

"Always  glad  to  see  you,  Senator.  What  can  we  do 
for  you?" 

"Everything,  sir.  Can  we  enter  at  once  into  our  con- 
ference?" 

"The  quicker  the  better.  General  Grant  may  drop  in 
on  us  at  any  moment  without  an  invitation." 

Rives  smiled  wanly. 

"General  Lee,  we  face  the  gravest  crisis  of  the  war." 

"No  argument  is  needed  to  convince  me  of  that,  sir. 
Grant's  men  have  gripped  us  with  a  ferocity  never  known 
before." 

"And  our  boys,"  Alexander  added,  "in  all  the  struggle 
have  never  been  such  stark  fighters  as  to-day." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  Lee  nodded.  "But  Grant  is  getting 
ready  to  fight  again  to-morrow  morning — not  next  month. 
His  policy  is  new,  and  it's  clear.  He  plans  to  pound  us 
to  death  in  a  series  of  quick,  successive  blows.  His  man 
power  is  exhaustiess.  We  can't  afford  to  lose  many  men. 
He  can.  An  endless  blue  line  is  streaming  to  the  front." 

"And  that's  why  I'm  here  to-night,  General,"  Rives  said 
gravely. 

"Grant  is  now  in  supreme  command  of  all  the  Armies  of 


388  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

the  Union.  While  he  moves  on  Richmond,  Butler  is  sweep- 
ing up  the  James  and  Sherman  is  pressing  on  Atlanta. 
We  have  lost  ten  thousand  men  in  two-days'  battle.  In 
the  next  we'll  lose  ten  thousand  more.  In  the  next  ten 
thousand  more — " 

"We  must  fight,  sir.  I  have  invaded  the  North  twice. 
But  I  stand  on  the  defense  now.  I  have  no  choice." 

"That  remains  to  be  seen,  General  Lee,"  Rives  said 
with  a  piercing  look. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"A  few  days  ago,  your  old  friend,  Francis  Preston 
Blair,  entered  our  lines  and  came  to  Richmond  on  a  mis- 
sion of  peace.  He  has  now  before  Mr.  Davis  and  his 
Cabinet  a  plan  to  end  the  war.  He  proposes  that  we  stop 
fighting,  unite  and  invade  Mexico  to  defend  the  Monroe 
Doctrine.  Maximilian  of  Austria  has  just  been  proclaimed 
Emperor  in  a  conspiracy  backed  by  Napoleon.  The  sug- 
gestion is  that  we  join  armies  under  your  command,  de- 
throne Maximilian,  push  the  soldiers  of  Napoleon  into  the 
sea,  and  restore  the  rule  of  the  people  on  the  American 
Continent." 

Lee  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"Mr.  Davis  refuses  to  listen  to  this  proposal?" 

"Only  on  the  basis  of  the  continued  division  of  our 
country.  Lincoln  naturally  demands  that  we  come  back 
into  the  Union  first,  and  march  on  Mexico  afterwards. 
Mr.  Davis  refuses  to  come  back  into  the  Union  first.  And 
so  we  end  where  we  began — unless  we  can  get  help  from 
you,  General  Lee — " 

"Well?" 

"The  Confederate  Congress  has  sent  me  as  their  spokes- 
man to  make  a  proposition  to  you." 

He  handed  Lee  the  letter  from  the  Congress. 

"Will  you  issue  as  Commanding  General  an  order  for 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  389 

an  armistice  to  arrange  the  joint  invasion  of  Mexico?" 

"You  mean  take  it  on  myself  to  go  over  the  head  of  Mr. 
Davis,  and  issue  this  order  without  his  knowledge?" 

"Exactly.    We  could  not  take  him  into  our  confidence." 

"But  Mr.  Davis  is  my  superior  officer  and  he  is  faith- 
fully executing  the  laws." 

"You  will  not  proclaim  an  armistice,  then?" 

Lee  spoke  with  irritation. 

"How  can  you  ask  me  to  go  over  the  head  of  my  Chief 
with  such  an  order?" 

Alexander  pressed  forward. 

"But  you  might  consider  a  proclamation  looking  to 
peace  under  this  plan — if  you  were  in  a  position  of  supreme 
power?" 

"I  have  no  such  power.  I  advised  our  people  to  make 
peace  before  I  invaded  Pennsylvania.  I  have  urged  it 
more  than  once,  but  they  cannot  see  it.  And  I  must  do 
the  work  given  me  from  day  to  day." 

"We  now  propose  to  give  to  you  the  sole  decision  as  to 
what  that  work  shall  be." 

"How;  sir?" 

"I  am  here  to-night,  General,  as  the  agent  of  our  Gov- 
ernment, to  confer  on  you  this  power.  The  Congress  has 
unanimously  chosen  you  as  Dictator  of  the  Confederacy 
with  supreme  power  over  both  the  civil  and  military 
branches  of  the  Government." 

"And  well  done !"  cried  Gordon. 

"We  back  them !"  echoed  Alexander. 

"Hurrah  for  the  Confederate  Congress,"  shouted  Stuart 
— "the  first  signs  of  brains  they've  shown  in  many  a 
day—" 

He  caught  himself  at  a  glance  from  Rives. 

"Excuse  me,  Senator — I  didn't  mean  quite  that." 

Lee  fixed  Rives  with  his  brilliant  eyes. 


390 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"The  Confederate  Congress  has  no  authority  to  declare 
a  Dictatorship." 

"We  have." 

"By  what  law?" 

"By  the  law  of  necessity,  sir.  The  civil  government  in 
Richmond  has  become  a  farce.  I  acknowledge  it  sorrow- 
fully. Your  soldiers  are  ill  clothed,  half  starved,  and  the 
power  to  recruit  your  ranks  is  gone.  The  people  have 
lost  faith  in  their  civil  leaders.  Disloyalty  is  rampant. 
In  the  name  of  ultra  State  Sovereignty,  treason  is  every- 
where threatening.  Soldiers  are  taken  from  your  army 
by  State  authorities  on  the  eve  of  battle.  Men  are  desert- 
ing in  droves  and  defy  arrest.  You  have  justly  demanded 
the  death  penalty  for  desertion.  It  has  been  denied. 
Bands  of  deserters  now  plunder,  burn  and  rob  as  they 
please.  You  are  our  only  hope.  You  are  the  idol  of  our 
people.  At  your  call  they  will  rally.  Men  will  pour  into 
your  ranks,  and  we  can  yet  crush  our  enemies,  or  invade 
Mexico  as  you  may  decide." 

"He's  right,  General,"  Gordon  agreed.  "The  South 
will  stand  by  you  to  a  man." 

Alexander  added  with  deep  reverence: 

"The  people  believe  in  you,  General  Lee,  as  they  believe 
in  God." 

A  dreamy  look  overspread  Lee's  face. 

"Their  faith  is  misplaced,  sir!  God  alone  decides  the 
fate  of  nations.  And  God.  not  your  commanding  General, 
will  decide  the  fate  of  the  South.  The  thing  that  appalls 
me  is  that  we  have  no  luck.  For  in  spite  of  numbers,  re- 
sources, generalship — the  unknown  factor  in  war  is  luck. 
The  North  has  had  it  all.  At  Shiloh  at  the  moment  of  a 
victory  that  would  have  ended  Grant's  career,  Albert 
Sydney  Johnson,  our  ablest  general,  was  shot  and  Grant 
escaped.  At  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville  in  these  very 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  391 

woods,  Jackson  at  the  moment  of  his  triumph — Jackson 
my  right  arm — was  shot  by  his  own  men.  To-day  Long- 
street  falls  in  the  same  way  when  he  is  about  to  repeat  his 
immortal  deed — " 

He  paused. 

"The  South  has  had  no  luck !" 

Alexander  eagerly  protested. 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,  sir.  God  has  given  the  South 
Lee  as  her  Commander.  Your  genius  is  equal  to  a  hundred 
thousand  men.  And  in  all  our  terrible  battles,  at  the  head 
of  your  men,  again  and  again,  as  you  were  to-day,  with 
bullets  whistling  around  you,  you've  lived  a  charmed  life. 
You're  here  to-night  strong  in  body  and  mind,  without  a 
scratch.  Don't  tell  me,  sir,  that  we  haven't  had  luck !" 

Stuart  broke  in. 

"You're  the  biggest  piece  of  luck  that  ever  befell  an 
army." 

Lee  rose. 

"I  appreciate  your  confidence  and  your  love,  gentlemen. 
But  I've  made  many  tragic  mistakes,  and  tried  to  find  an 
abler  man  to  take  my  place." 

"There's  no  such  man!"  Stuart  boomed.  "Give  the 
word  to-night  and  every  soldier  in  this  army  would  follow 
you  into  the  jaws  of  hell!" 

Lee's  eyes  were  lifted  dreamily. 

"And  you  ask  me  to  blot  out  the  liberties  of  our  people 
by  a  single  act  of  usurpation?" 

Alexander  lifted  his  hand. 

"Only  for  a  moment,  General,  that  we  may  restore  them 
in  greater  glory.  The  truth  is  the  Confederate  Govern- 
ment is  not  fitted  for  revolution.  Let's  win  this  war  and 
fix  it  afterwards." 

"I  do  not  believe  either  in  military  statesmen  or  politi- 


392         *   THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

cal  generals.  The  military  should  be  subordinate  always 
to  the  civil  power — " 

"But  Congress,"  Rives  broke  in,  "speaking  for  the  peo- 
ple, offers  you  supreme  power.  Mr.  Davis  has  not  proven 
himself  strong  enough  for  the  great  office  he  holds." 

Lee  flared  at  this  assertion. 

"And  if  he  has  not,  sir,  who  gave  me  the  right  to  sit  in 
judgment  upon  my  superior  officer  and  condemn  him  with- 
out trial?  Mr.  Davis  is  the  victim  of  this  unhappy  war. 
I  say  this,  though,  that  he  differs  with  me  on  vital  issues. 
I  urged  the  abolition  of  Slavery.  He  opposed  it.  So  did 
your  Congress.  I  urged  the  uncovering  of  Richmond  and 
the  concentration  of  our  forces  into  one  great  army  for 
an  offensive — " 

Rives  interrupted. 

"We  ask  you  to  take  the  supreme  power  and  decide  these 
questions." 

Lee  replied  with  a  touch  of  anger. 

"But  I  may  be  wrong  in  my  policies.  Mr.  Davis  is  a 
man  of  the  highest  character,  devoted  soul  and  body  to 
the  principles  to  which  he  has  pledged  his  life.  He  is  a 
statesman  of  the  foremost  rank.  He  is  a  trained  soldier, 
a  West  Point  graduate.  He  is  a  man  of  noble  spirit — 
courageous,  frank,  positive.  A  great  soul  throbs  within 
his  breast.  He  has  done  as  well  in  his  high  office  as  any 
other  man  could  have  done — " 

He  looked  straight  at  Rives. 

"We  left  the  Union,  sir,  because  our  rights  had  been 
invaded.  Our  revolution  is  justified  by  this  fact  alone. 
You  ask  me  to  do  the  thing  that  caused  us  to  revolt.  To 
brush  aside  the  laws  which  our  people  have  ordained  and 
set  up  a  Dictatorship  with  the  power  of  life  and  death 
over  every  man,  woman  and  child.  For  three  years  we 
have  Doured  out  our  blood  in  a  sacred  cause.  We  are 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 393 

fighting  for  our  liberties  under  law,  or  we  are  traitors, 
not  revolutionists.  We  are  fighting  for  order,  justice, 
principles,  or  we  are  fighting  for  nothing — " 

A  courier  dashed  to  the  door  of  the  tent  and  handed 
Lee  a  message  which  he  read  with  a  frown. 

"This  discussion  is  closed,  gentlemen.  General  Grant 
is  moving  on  Spottsylvania  Court  House.  My  business  is 
to  get  there  first.  My  work  is  not  to  jockey  for  place  or 
power.  It  is  to  fight.  Move  your  forces  at  once !" 


LEE  hurried  to  Spottsylvania  Court  House  and  was 
entrenched  before  Grant  arrived.  The  two  armies 
again  flew  at  each  other's  throat.  True  to  Lee's 
prediction  the  Union  Commander  hurled  Sheridan's  full 
force  of  ten  thousand  cavalry  in  a  desperate  effort  to  turn 
the  right  and  strike  Richmond  while  the  Confederate  in- 
fantry were  held  in  a  grip  of  death. 

From  a  hilltop  Stuart  saw  the  coming  blue  legions  of 
Sheridan.  They  rode  four  abreast  and  made  a  column  of 
flashing  sabers  and  fluttering  guidons  thirteen  miles  long. 

The  young  Cavalier  waved  his  plumed  hat  and  gave  a 
shout.  It  was  magnificent.  He  envied  them  the  endless 
line  of  fine  horses.  He  had  but  three  small  brigades  to 
oppose  them.  But  his  spirits  rose. 

He  ordered  his  generals  to  harass  the  advancing  host 
at  every  point  of  vantage,  delay  them  as  long  as  possible 
and  draw  up  their  forces  at  Yellow  Tavern  for  the  battle. 

He  took  time  to  dash  across  the  country  from  Beaver 
Dam  Station  to  see  his  wife  and  babies.  He  had  left  them 
at  the  house  of  Edmund  Fontaine.  He  feared  that  the 
Federal  Cavalry  might  have  raided  the  section. 

To  his  joy  he  found  them  well  and  happy,  unconscious 
of  the  impending  fight. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  joyous  life  of  song  and  play 
and  war  he  was  worried. 

His  wife  was  in  high  spirits.     She  cheered  him. 

"Don't  worry  about  us,  my  soldier  man!  We're  all 

394 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY  395 

right.  No  harm  has  ever  befallen  us.  We've  had  three 
glorious  years  playing  lovers'  hide-and-seek.  I've  ceased 
to  worry  about  you.  Your  life  is  charmed.  God  has 
heard  my  prayers.  You're  coming  home  soon  to  play  with 
me  and  the  babies  always !" 

She  was  too  happy  for  Stuart  to  describe  the  host  of 
ten  thousand  riders  which  he  had  just  seen.  Their  lives 
were  in  God's  hands.  It  was  enough. 

He  held  her  in  his  arms  longer  than  was  his  wont  at 
parting.  And  then  with  a  laugh  and  a  shout  to  the  chil- 
dren he  was  gone. 

At  Jerrold's  Mill,  Wickham's  brigade  suddenly  fell  on 
Sheridan's  rear  guard  and  captured  a  company.  Sheri- 
dan refused  to  stop  to  fight. 

At  Mitchell's  Shop,  Wickham  again  dashed  on  the  rear 
guard  and  was  forced  back  by  a  counter  charge.  As  he 
retreated,  fighting  a  desperate  hand-to-hand  saber  en- 
gagement, Fitzhugh  Lee  and  Stuart  rushed  to  his  aid  and 
the  blue  river  rolled  on  again  toward  Richmond. 

At  Hanover  Junction  Stuart  allowed  his  men  to  sleep 
until  one  o'clock  and  then  rode  with  desperate  speed  to 
Yellow  Tavern.  He  reached  his  chosen  battle  ground  at 
ten  o'clock  the  following  morning.  He  had  won  the  race 
and  at  once  deployed  his  forces  to  meet  the  coming  ava- 
lanche. 

Wickham  he  stationed  on  the  right  of  the  road,  Lomax 
on  the  left.  He  placed  two  guns  in  the  road,  one  on  the 
left  to  rake  it  at  an  angle. 

He  dismounted  his  men  and  ordered  them  to  fight  as 
infantry.  A  reserve  of  mounted  men  were  held  in  his 
rear. 

He  sent  his  aide  into  Richmond  to  inquire  of  its  defenses 
and  warn  General  Bragg  of  the  sweeping  legions.  The 
Commandant  at  the  Confederate  Capital  replied  that  he 


396 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

could  hold  his  trenches.  He  would  call  on  Petersburg  for 
reinforcements.  He  asked  Stuart  to  hold  Sheridan  back 
as  long  as  possible. 

On  the  morning  of  the  eleventh  of  May,  at  6:30,  he 
wrote  his  dispatch  to  Lee: 

"Fighting  against  immense  odds  of  Sheridan.  My  men 
and  horses  are  tired,  hungry  and  jaded,  but  all  right!" 

It  was  four  o'clock  before  Sheridan  struck  Yellow  Tav- 
ern. With  skill  and  dash  he  threw  an  entire  brigade  on 
Stuart's  left,  broke  his  line,  rolled  it  up  and  captured  his 
two  guns.  Stuart  ordered  at  once  a  reserve  squadron  to 
charge  the  advancing  Federals.  With  desperate  courage 
they  drove  them  back  in  a  hand-to-hand  combat,  saber 
ringing  on  saber  to  the  shout  and  yell  of  savages. 

As  the  struggling,  surging  mass  of  blue  riders  rolled 
back  in  confusion,  Stuart  rode  into  the  scene  cheering  his 
men.  A  man  in  blue,  whose  horse  had  been  shot  from 
under *1iim,  fired  his  revolver  pointblank  at  Stuart.  The 
shot  entered  his  body  just  above  the  belt  and  the  mag- 
nificent head  with  the  waving  plume  drooped  on  his  breast. 

Captain  Dorsey  hurried  to  his  assistance.  There  were 
but  a  handful  of  his  men  between  him  and  the  Federal  line. 
The  wounded  Commander  was  in  danger  of  being  captured 
by  a  sudden  dash  of  reserves.  He  was  lifted  off  his  horse 
and  he  leaned  against  a  tree. 

Stuart  raised  his  head. 

"Go  back  now,  Dorsey,  to  your  men." 

"Not  until  you're  safe,  sir." 

As  the  ambulance  passed  through  his  broken  ranks  in 
the  rear,  he  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow  and  rallied  his  men 
with  a  brave  shout: 

"Go  back !  Go  back  to  your  duty,  men !  And  our  coun- 
try will  be  safe.  Go  back !  Go  back !  I'd  rather  die  than 
be  whipped." 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 397 

The  men  rallied  and  rushed  to  the  firing  line.  They 
fought  so  well  that  Sheridan  lost  the  way  to  Richmond  and 
the  Capital  of  the  Confederacy  was  saved. 

The  wounded  Commander  was  taken  to  the  home  of  his 
brother-in-law,  Dr.  Charles  Brewer,  in  Richmond.  He 
had  suffered  agonies  on  the  rough  journey  but  bore  his 
pain  with  grim  cheerfulness. 

He  had  sent  a  swift  messenger  to  his  wife.  He  knew  she 
would  reach  Richmond  the  next  day. 

The  following  morning  Major  McClellan,  his  aide,  rode 
in  from  the  battlefield  to  report  to  General  Bragg.  Hav- 
ing delivered  his  message  he  hurried  to  the  bedside  of  his 
beloved  Chief. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"Inflammation  has  set  in,  Major — " 

"My  God,  is  there  no  hope?" 

"None." 

The  singing,  rollicking,  daring  young  Cavalier  felt  the 
hand  of  death  on  his  shoulder.  He  was  calm  and  cheer- 
ful. His  bright  words  were  broken  by  paroxysms  of  suf- 
fering. He  would  merely  close  his  shining  blue  eyes  and 
wait. 

He  directed  his  aide  to  dispose  of  his  official  papers. 

He  touched  McClellan's  hand  and  the  Major's  closed 
over  it. 

"I  wish  you  to  have  one  of  my  horses  and  Venable  the 
other." 

McClellan  nodded. 

"Which  of  you  is  the  heavier  ?" 

"Venable,  sir." 

"All  right,  give  him  the  gray.    You  take  the  bay." 

The  pain  choked  him  into  silence  again.  At  last  he 
opened  his  eyes. 

"You'll  find  in  my  hat  a  small  Confederate  flag  which 


398 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

a  lady  in  Columbia,  South  Carolina,  sent  me  with  the  re- 
quest that  I  wear  it  on  my  horse  in  a  battle  and  return  it 
to  her.  Send  it." 

Again  the  agony  stilled  the  musical  voice. 

"My  spurs,"  he  went  on,  "which  I  have  always  worn  in 
battle,  I  promised  to  Mrs.  Lilly  Lee  of  Shepherdstown, 
Virginia — " 

He  paused. 

"My  sword — I  leave — to — my — son." 

A  cannon  roared  outside  the  city.  With  quick  eagerness 
he  asked : 

"What's  that?" 

"Gracey's  brigade  has  moved  out  against  Sheridan's 
rear  as  he  retreats.  Fitz  Lee  is  fighting  them  still  at 
Meadow  Bridge." 

He  turned  his  blue  eyes  upward  and  prayed: 

"God  grant  they  may  win — " 

He  moved  his  head  aside  and  said: 

"I  must  prepare  for  another  world." 

He  listened  to  the  roar  of  the  guns  for  a  moment  and 
signaled  to  his  aide: 

"Major,  Fitz  Lee  may  need  you." 

McClellan  pressed  his  hand  and  hurried  to  the  front. 

As  he  passed  out  the  tall  figure  of  the  President  of  the 
Confederacy  entered.  Jefferson  Davis  sat  by  his  side  and 
held  his  hand.  He  loved  his  daring  young  Cavalry  Com- 
mander. He  had  made  him  a  Major-General  at  thirty. 
He  was  dying  now  at  thirty-one.  The  tragedy  found  the 
heart  of  the  sorrowful  leader  of  all  the  South. 

When  the  Reverend  Dr.  Peterkin  entered  he  said: 

"Now  I  want  you  to  sing  for  me  the  old  song  I  love 
best — 

"  'Rock  of  Ages  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee — * " 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 399 

With  failing  breath  he  j  oined  in  the  song. 

A  paroxysm  of  pain  gripped  him  and  he  asked  the  doc- 
tor: 

"Can  I  survive  the  night  ?" 

"No,  General.     The  end  is  near." 

He  was  silent.     And  then  slowly  said: 

"I  am  resigned  if  it  be  God's  will.  But — I — would — 
like — to — see — my — wife — " 

The  beautiful  voice  sank  into  eternal  silence. 

So  passed  the  greatest  cavalry  leader  our  country  has 
produced.  A  man  whose  joyous  life  was  a  long  wish  of 
good  will  toward  all  of  his  fellow  men. 

The  little  mother  heard  the  news  as  she  rode  in  hot 
haste  over  the  rough  roads  to  Richmond.  The  hideous 
thing  was  beyond  belief,  but  it  had  come.  She  had  heard 
the  roar  of  battle  for  three  years  and  after  each  bloody 
day  he  had  come  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  and  a  stronger 
love  in  his  brave  heart.  She  had  ceased  to  fear  his  death 
in  battle.  God  had  promised  her  in  prayer  to  spare  him. 
Only  once  had  a  bullet  cut  his  clothes. 

And  now  he  was  dead. 

But  yesterday  he  dashed  across  the  country  from  his 
line  of  march,  and,  even  while  the  conflict  raged,  held  her 
in  his  arms  and  crooned  over  her. 

The  tears  had  flowed  for  two  hours  before  she  reached 
the  house  of  death.  She  could  weep  no  longer. 

A  sister's  arm  encircled  her  waist  and  led  her  unseeing 
eyes  into  the  room.  There  was  no  wild  outburst  of  grief 
at  the  sight  of  his  cold  body. 

She  stooped  to  kiss  the  loved  lips,  placed  her  hand  on 
the  high  forehead  and  drew  back  at  its  chill.  She  stood 
in  dumb  anguish  until  her  sister  in  alarm  said: 

"Come,  dear,  to  my  room." 

The  set,  blue  eyes  never  moved  from  the  face  of  her  dead. 


400 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"It's  wrong.  It's  wrong.  It's  all  wrong — this  hideous 
murder  of  our  loved  ones !  Why  must  they  send  my  hus- 
band to  kill  my  father?  Why  must  they  send  my  father 
to  kill  the  father  of  my  babies?  Why  didn't  they  stop 
this  a  year  ago?  It  must  end  some  time.  Why  did  they 
ever  begin  it?  Why  must  brother  kill  his  brother?  My 
father,  thank  God,  didn't  kill  him.  But  little  Phil  Sheri- 
dan, his  schoolmate,  did.  And  he  never  spoke  an  unkind 
word  about  him  in  his  life !  His  heart  was  overflowing  with 
joy  and  love.  He  sang  when  he  rode  into  battle — " 

She  paused  and  a  tear  stole  down  her  cheeks  at  last. 

"Poor  boy,  he  loved  its  wild  din  and  roar.  It  was  play 
to  his  daring  spirit." 

A  sob  caught  her  voice  and  then  it  rose  in  fierce  rebel- 
lion : 

"Where  was  God  when  he  fell  ?  He  was  thirty-one  years 
old,  in  the  glory  of  a  beautiful  life — 

Her  sister  spoke  in  gentle  sympathy. 

"His  fame  fills  the  world,  dear." 

"Fame?  Fame?  What  is  that  to  me,  now?  I  stretch 
out  my  hand,  and  it's  ashes.  My  arms  are  empty.  My 
heart  is  broken.  Life  isn't  worth  the  living." 

Her  voice  drifted  into  a  dreamy  silence  as  the  tears 
streamed  down  her  cheeks.  She  stood  for  half  an  hour 
staring  through  blurred  eyes  at  the  cold  clay. 

She  turned  at  last  and  seized  her  sister's  hands  both  in 
hers,  and  gazed  with  a  strange,  set  look  that  saw  some- 
thing beyond  time  and  the  things  of  sense. 

"My  dear  sister,  God  will  yet  give  to  the  mothers  of 
men  the  power  to  stop  this  murder.  There's  a  better  way. 
There's  a  better  way." 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

WHILE  Sheridan  rode  against  Richmond,  Lee  and 
Grant  were  struggling  in  a  pool  of  red  at  the 
"Bloody  Angle"  of  Spottsylvania.  The  musketry 
fire  against  the  trees  came  in  a  low  undertone,  like  the  rat- 
tle of  a  hail  storm  on  the  roofs  of  houses. 

A  company  of  blue  soldiers  were  cut  off  by  a  wave  of 
charging  gray.  The  men  were  trying  to  surrender.  Their 
officers  drew  their  revolvers  and  ordered  them  to  break 
through.  A  sullen  private  shouted: 

"Shoot  your  officers !" 

Every  commander  dropped  in  his  tracks.  And  the  men 
were  marched  to  the  rear.  Hour  after  hour  the  flames  of 
hell  swirled  in  endless  waves  about  this  angle  of  the  South- 
ern trenches.  Line  after  line  of  blue  broke  against  it  and 
eddied  down  its  sides  in  slimy  pools. 

Color  bearers  waved  their  flags  in  each  other's  faces, 
clinched  and  fought,  hand  to  hand,  like  devils.  Two  sol- 
diers on  top  of  the  trench,  their  ammunition  spent,  choked 
each  other  to  death  and  rolled  down  the  embankment 
among  the  mangled  bodies  that  filled  the  ditch. 

In  this  mass  of  struggling  maniacs  men  were  fighting 
with  guns,  swords,  handspikes,  clubbed  muskets,  stones 
and  fists.  Night  brought  no  pause  to  save  the  wounded  or 
bury  the  dead. 

For  five  days  Grant  circled  his  blue  hosts  in  a  whirlpool 

401 


402 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

of  death  trying  in  vain  to  break  Lee's  trenches.  He  gave  it 
up.  The  stolid,  silent  man  of  iron  nerves  watched  the 
stream  of  wagons  bearing  the  wounded,  groaning  and 
shrieking,  from  the  field.  Lee's  forces  had  been  handled 
with  such  skill  the  impact  of  numbers  had  made  but  little 
impression. 

Thirty  thousand  dead  and  mangled  lay  on  the  field. 

The  stark  fighter  of  the  West  was  facing  a  new  prob- 
lem. The  devotion  of  Lee's  men  was  a  mania.  He  was  un- 
conquerable in  a  square  hand-to-hand  fight  in  the  woods. 

A  truce  to  bury  the  dead  followed.  They  found  them 
piled  six  layers  deep  in  the  trenches,  blue  and  gray  locked 
in  the  last  embrace.  Black  wings  were  flapping  over  them 
unafraid  of  the  living.  Their  red  beaks  were  tearing  at 
eyes  and  lips,  while  deep  below  yet  groaned  and  moved 
the  wounded. 

Again  Grant  sought  to  flank  his  wily  foe.  This  time 
he  beat  Lee  to  the  spot.  The  two  armies  rushed  for  Cold 
Harbor  in  parallel  columns  flashing  at  each  other  deadly 
volleys  as  they  marched.  Lee  took  second  choice  of 
ground  and  entrenched  on  a  gently  sloping  line  of  hills. 
They  swung  in  crescent  as  at  Fredericksburg. 

With  consummate  skill  he  placed  his  guns  and  infantry 
to  catch  both  flanks  and  front  of  the  coming  foe.  And 
then  he  waited  for  Grant  to  charge.  Thousands  of  men 
in  the  blue  ranks  were  busy  now  sewing  their  names  in 
their  underclothing. 

With  the  first  streak  of  dawn,  at  4:30,  they  charged. 
They  walked  into  the  mouth  of  a  volcano  flaming  tons  of 
steel  and  lead  in  their  faces.  The  scene  was  sickening. 
Nothing  like  it  had,  to  this  time,  happened  in  the  history 
of  man. 

Ten  thousand  men  in  blue  fell  in  twenty  minutes. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 403 

Meade  ordered  Smith  to  renew  the  assault.  Daring  a 
court  martial,  Smith  flatly  refused. 

The  story  of  the  next  seventy-two  hours  our  historians 
have  refused  to  record.  Through  the  smothering  heat  of 
summer  for  three  days  and  nights  the  shrieks  and  groans 
of  the  wounded  rose  in  endless  waves  of  horror.  No  hand 
could  be  lifted  to  save.  With  their  last  breath  they  begged, 
wept,  cried,  prayed  for  water.  No  man  dared  move  in  the 
storm-swept  space.  Here  and  there  a  heroic  boy  in  blue 
caught  the  cry  of  a  wounded  comrade  and  crawled  on  his 
bell}r  to  try  a  rescue  only  to  die  in  the  embrace  of  his 
friend. 

When  the  truce  was  called  to  clear  the  shambles  every 
man  of  the  ten  thousand  who  had  fallen  was  dead — save 
two.  The  salvage  corps  walked  in  a  muck  of  blood.  They 
slipped  and  stumbled  and  fell  in  its  festering  pools.  The 
flies  and  vultures  were  busy.  Dead  horses,  dead  men, 
smashed  guns,  legs,  arms,  mangled  bodies  disemboweled, 
the  earth  torn  into  an  ashen  crater. 

In  the  thirty  days  since  Grant  had  met  Lee  in  the  wil- 
derness, the  Northern  army  had  lest  sixty  thousand  men, 
the  bravest  of  our  race. 

Lee's  losses  were  not  so  great  but  they  were  tragic. 
They  were  as  great  in  proportion  to  the  number  he  com- 
manded. 

Grant  paused  to  change  his  plan  of  campaign.  The  pro- 
cession of  ambulances  into  Washington  had  stunned  the 
Nation.  Every  city,  town,  village,  hamlet  and  country 
home  was  in  mourning.  A  stream  of  protest  against  the 
new  Commander  swept  the  North.  Lincoln  refused  to  re- 
move him.  And  on  his  head  was  heaped  the  blame  for  all 
the  anguish  of  the  bitter  years  of  failure. 

His  answer  to  his  critics  was  remorseless. 

"We  must  fight  to  win.     Grant  is  the  ablest  general  we 


404 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

have.  His  losses  are  appalling.  But  the  struggle  is  now 
on  to  the  bitter  end.  Our  resources  of  men  and  money  are 
exhaustless.  The  South  cannot  replace  her  fallen  sons. 
Her  losses,  therefore,  are  fatal!" 

War  had  revealed  to  all  at  last  that  the  Abolition  cru- 
sade had  been  built  on  a  lie.  The  negro  had  proven  a 
bulwark  of  strength  to  the  South.  Had  their  theories 
been  true,  had  the  slaves  been  beaten  and  abused  the  Black 
Bees  would  surely  have  swarmed.  A  single  Southern  vil- 
lage put  to  the  torch  by  black  hands  would  have  done  for 
Lee's  army  what  no  opponent  had  been  able  to  do.  It 
would  have  been  destroyed  in  a  night.  The  Confederacy 
would  have  gone  down  in  hopeless  ruin. 

Not  a  black  hand  had  been  raised  against  a  Southern 
man  or  woman  in  all  the  raging  hell.  This  fact  is  the 
South's  vindication  against  the  slanders  of  the  Abolition- 
ists. The  negroes  stood  by  their  old  masters.  They 
worked  his  fields ;  they  guarded  his  women  and  children ; 
they  mourned  over  the  graves  of  their  fallen  sons. 

And  now  in  the  supreme  hour  of  gathering  darkness 
came  the  last  act  of  the  tragedy — the  arming  of  the 
Northern  blacks  and  the  training  of  their  hands  to  slay  a 
superior  race. 

In  the  first  year  of  the  war  Lincoln  had  firmly  refused 
the  prayer  of  Thomas  Wentworth  Higginson  that  he  be 
allowed  to  arm  and  drill  the  Black  Legions  of  the  North. 
Later  the  pressure  could  not  be  resisted.  The  daily  mur- 
der of  the  flower  of  the  race  had  lowered  its  morale.  It 
had  lowered  the  value  set  on  racial  trait  and  character. 
The  Cavalier  and  Puritan,  with  a  thousand  years  of  in- 
spiring history  throbbing  in  their  veins,  had  become  mere 
cannon  fodder.  The  cry  for  men  and  still  more  men  was 
endless.  And  this  cry  must  be  heard,  or  the  war  would 
end. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 405 

Men  of  the  white  breed  were  clasping  hands  at  last 
across  the  lines  under  the  friendly  cover  of  the  night. 
They  spoke  softly  through  their  tears  of  home  and  loved 
ones.  The  tumult  and  the  shout  had  passed.  The  jeer 
and  taunt,  blind  passion  and  sordid  hate  lay  buried  in 
the  long,  deep  graves  of  a  hundred  fields  of  blood. 

Grant's  new  plan  of  campaign  resulted  in  the  deadlock 
of  Petersburg.  The  two  armies  now  lay  behind  thirty-five 
miles  of  deep  trenches  with  a  stretch  of  volcano-torn, 
desolate  earth  between  them. 

The  Black  Legions  were  massed  for  a  ojramatic  ending 
of  the  war.  Grant,  Meade,  and  Burnside  had  developed 
a  plan.  Hundreds  of  sappers  and  miners  burrowed  under 
the  shell-torn  ground  for  months,  digging  a  tunnel  under 
Lee's  fortress  immediately  before  Petersburg. 

The  tunnel  was  not  complete  before  Lee's  ears  had 
caught  the  sound.  A  counter  tunnel  was  hastily  begun 
but  Grant's  men  had  reached  the  spot  under  the  center 
of  Elliot's  salient  before  the  Confederates  could  intercept 
them. 

Grant  skilfully  threw  a  division  of  his  army  on  the 
north  side  of  the  James  and  made  a  fierce  frontal  attack 
on  Richmond  while  he  gathered  the  flower  of  his  army, 
sixty-five  thousand  men  with  his  Black  Legions,  before  the 
tunnel  that  would  open  the  way  into  Petersburg. 

Lee  was  not  misled  by  the  assault  on  Richmond.  But 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  meet  it,  or  the  Capital 
would  have  fallen.  He  was  compelled,  in  the  face  of  the 
threatened  explosion  and  assault,  to  divide  his  forces  and 
weaken  his  lines  before  the  tunnel. 

His  men  were  on  the  ground  beyond  the  James  to  inter- 
cept the  column  moving  toward  Richmond.  When  the 
assault  failed,  Hancock  and  Sheridan  immediately  re- 


406 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

crossed  the  river  to  take  part  in  the  capture  of  Petersburg 
and  witness  the  end  of  the  Confederacy. 

The  tons  of  powder  were  stored  under  the  fort  and  the 
fuse  set.  The  Black  battalions  stood  ready  to  lead  the  at- 
tack and  enter  Petersburg  first. 

At  the  final  council  of  war,  the  plan  was  changed.  A 
division  of  New  Englanders,  the  sons  of  Puritan  fathers 
and  mothers,  were  set  to  this  grim  task  and  the  negroes 
were  ordered  to  follow. 

High  words  had  been  used  at  the  Council.  The  whole 
problem  of  race  and  racial  values  was  put  to  the  test  of 
the  science  of  anthropology  and  of  mathematics.  The 
fuse  would  be  set  before  daylight.  The  charge  must  be 
made  in  darkness  with  hundreds  of  great  guns  flaming, 
shrieking,  shaking  the  earth.  The  negro  could  not  be 
trusted  to  lead  in  this  work.  He  had  followed  white  offi- 
cers in  the  daylight  and  under  their  inspiration  had  fought 
bravely.  But  he  was  afraid  of  the  dark.  It  was  useless 
to  mince  matters.  The  council  faced  the  issue.  He  could 
not  stand  the  terrors  of  the  night  in  such  a  charge. 

The  decision  was  an  ominous  one  for  the  future  of 
America — ominous  because  merciless  in  its  scientific  logic. 
The  same  power  which  had  given  the  white  man  his  mas- 
tery of  science  and  progress  in  the  centuries  of  human  his- 
tory gave  him  the  mastery  of  his  brain  and  nerves  in  the 
dark.  For  a  thousand  years  superstition  had  been  trained 
out  of  his  brain  fiber.  He  could  hold  a  firing  line  day  or 
night.  The  darkness  was  his  friend,  not  his  enemy. 

The  New  Englanders  were  pushed  forward  for  the  at- 
tack. The  grim  preparations  were  hurried.  The  pioneers 
were  marshaled  with  axes  and  entrenching  tools.  A  train 
pulled  in  from  City  Point  with  crowds  of  extra  surgeons, 
their  amputating  tables  and  bandages  ready.  The  wagons 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 407 

were  loaded  with  picks  and  shovels  to  bury  the  dead 
quickly  in  the  scorching  heat  of  July. 

The  men  waited  in  impatience  for  the  explosion.  It  had 
been  set  for  two  o'clock.  For  two  hours  they  stood  listen- 
ing. Their  hearts  were  beating  high  at  first.  The  delay 
took  the  soul  out  of  them.  They  were  angry,  weary,  curs- 
ing, complaining. 

The  fuse  had  gone  out.  Another  had  to  be  trained  and 
set.  As  the  Maine  regiments  gripped  their  muskets  wait- 
ing for  the  explosion  of  the  mine,  a  negro  preacher  in  the 
second  line  behind  them  was  haranguing  the  Black  Bat- 
talions. His  drooning,  voodoo  voice  rang  through  the 
woods  in  weird  echoes : 

"Oh,  my  men!  Dis  here's  gwine  ter  be  er  great  fight. 
De  greatest  fight  in  all  de  war.  We  gwine  ter  take  ole 
Petersburg  dis  day.  De  day  er  Juberlee  is  come.  Yes, 
Lawd !  An'  den  we  take  Richmon',  'stroy  Lee's  army  an' 
en'  dis  war.  Yas,  Lawd,  an'  'member  dat  Gen'l  Grant  an* 
Gen'l  Burnside,  an'  Gen'l  Meade's  is  all  right  here  a-watch- 
in'  ye !  An'  'member  dat  I'se  er  watchin'  ye.  I'se  er  sargint 
in  dis  here  comp'ny.  Any  you  tries  ter  be  a  skulker, 
you'se  gwine  ter  git  a  beyonet  run  clean  froo  ye — yas, 
Lawd !  You  hear  me !" 

He  had  scarcely  finished  his  harangue  when  a  smother- 
ing peal  of  thunder  shook  the  world.  The  ground  rocked 
beneath  the  feet  of  the  men.  Some  were  thrown  back- 
wards. Some  staggered  and  caught  a  comrade's  shoulder. 
A  pillar  of  blinding  flame  shot  to  the  stars.  A  cloud  of 
smoke  rolled  upward  and  spread  its  pall  over  the  tremb- 
ling earth.  A  shower  of  human  flesh  and  bones  spattered 
the  smoking  ground. 

The  men  in  front  shivered  as  they  brushed  the  pieces  of 
red  meat  from  their  hands  and  clothes. 

The  artillery  opened.     Hundreds  of  guns  were  pouring 


408 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

shells  from  their  flaming  mouths.  The  people  of  Peters- 
burg leaped  from  their  beds  and  pressed  into  the  streets 
stunned  by  the  appalling  shock  and  the  storm  of  artillery 
which  followed. 

The  ground  in  front  of  the  tunnel  had  been  cleared  of 
the  abatis.  Burnside's  New  England  veterans  rushed  the 
crater.  A  huge  hole  had  been  torn  in  Lee's  fortifications 
one  hundred  yards  long  and  sixty  feet  wide  and  twenty- 
five  feet  in  depth. 

The  hole  proved  a  grave.  The  charging  troops  floun- 
dered in  its  spongy,  blood-soaked  sides.  They  stumbled 
and  fell  into  its  pit.  The  regiments  in  the  rear,  rushing 
through  the  smoke  and  stumbling  over  the  mangled  pieces 
of  flesh  of  Elliott's  three  hundred  men  who  had  been  torn 
to  pieces,  were  on  top  of  the  line  in  front  before  they  could 
clear  the  crumbling  walls. 

When  the  charging  hosts  at  last  reached  the  firm  ground 
inside  the  Confederate  lines,  the  men  in  gray  were  rally- 
ing. Their  guns  had  been  trained  on  the  yawning  chasm 
now  a  struggling,  squirming,  cursing  mass  of  blue.  Slowly 
order  came  out  of  chaos  and  Burnside's  men  swung  to  the 
right  and  to  the  left  and  swept  Lee's  trenches  for  three 
hundred  yards  in  each  direction.  The  charging  regiments 
poured  into  them  and  found  the  second  Confederate  line. 
Elliott's  men  who  yet  lived,  driven  from  their  outer  line 
by  the  resistless  rush  of  the  attack,  retreated  to  a  deep 
ravine,  rallied  and  held  this  third  line. 

Lee  reached  the  field  and  took  command.  Mahone's 
men  came  to  the  rescue  marching  with  swift,  steady  tread. 
They  took  their  position  on  the  crest  which  commanded 
the  open  space  toward  the  captured  trenches. 

As  Wright's  brigade  moved  into  position,  the  Black 
Battalions  were  ordered  to  charge.  They  had  been  hur- 
ried through  the  crater  and  into  the  trenches  on  the  right 


m THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 409 

and  left.  At  the  signal  they  swarmed  over  the  works,  with 
a  voodoo  yell,  and  in  serried  black  waves,  charged  the  men 
in  gray.  In  broad  daylight  the  Southerners  saw  for  the 
first  time  the  plan  of  the  dramatic  attack. 

The  white  men  of  the  South  shrieked  an  answer  and 
gripped  their  muskets.  The  cry  they  gave  came  down  the 
centuries  from  three  thousand  3rears  of  history.  It  came 
from  the  hearts  of  a  conquering  race  of  men.  They  had 
heard  the  Call  of  the  Blood  of  the  Race  that  rules  the 
world. 

Without  an  order  from  their  commanders,  with  a  single 
impulse,  the  whole  Southern  line  leaped  from  their  cover 
and  dashed  on  the  advancing  Black  Legions  in  a  counter 
charge  so  swift,  so  terrible,  there  was  but  a  single  crash 
and  the  yell  of  white  victory  rang  over  the  field.  The 
Blacks  broke  and  piled  pell  mell  into  the  trenches  and  on 
into  the  hell  hole  of  the  crater. 

Fifty  of  Lee's  guns  were  now  pouring  a  steady  stream 
of  shells  into  this  pit  of  the  damned. 

The  charging  gray  lines  rolled  over  the  .captured 
trenches.  They  ringed  the  edge  of  the  crater  with  a  circle 
of  flaming  muskets.  The  writhing  mass  of  dead,  dying, 
wounded  and  living,  scrambling  blacks  and  whites,  was  a 
thing  for  devil's  joy.  At  the  bottom  of  the  pit  the  heap 
was  ten  feet  deep  in  moving  flesh.  In  vain  the  terror- 
stricken  blacks  scrambled  up  the  slippery  sides  through 
clouds  of  smoke.  They  fell  backward  and  rolled  down  the 
crumbling  walls. 

Young  John  Doyle  stood  on  the  brink  of  this  crater,  his 
eyes  aflame  with  revenge.  His  musket  was  so  hot  at  last 
he  threw  it  down,  tore  a  cartridge  belt  from  the  body  of 
a  dead  negro  trooper,  seized  his  rifle  and  went  back  to  his 
task. 

Sickened  at  last  by  the  holocaust,  the  officers  of  the 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 


South  ordered  their  men  to  cease  firing.  They  had  charged 
without  orders.  They  refused  to  take  orders.  The  offi- 
cers began  to  strike  them  with  their  swords ! 

"Cease  firing!" 

"Damn  you,  stop  it!" 

Their  orders  rang  around  the  flaming  curve  in  vain. 
They  seized  the  men  by  their  collars  and  dragged  them 
back.  The  gray  soldiers  tore  away,  rushed  to  the  smok- 
ing rim  and  fired  as  long  as  they  had  a  cartridge  in  their 
belts. 

It  was  the  poor  white  man  who  got  beyond  control  at 
the  sight  of  these  yelling  black  troops  wearing  the  uniform 
of  the  Republic.  Had  their  souls  leaped  the  years  and 
seen  in  a  vision  dark-skinned  hosts  charging  the  ranks  of 
white  civilization  in  a  battle  for  supremacy  of  the  world? 


CHAPTER  XLV 

WHEN  the  smoke  had  lifted  from  the  field  of  tKe 
Black  Battalions,  Lee  stood  in  Richmond  before 
a  secret  meeting  of  the  leaders  of  the  Confederacy. 
Jefferson  Davis  presided.  The  meeting  was  called  by  re- 
quest of  the  Commander.  He  had  an  important  announce- 
ment to  make. 

Facing  the  anxious  group  gathered  around  the  Cabinet 
table  he  spoke  with  unusual  emphasis : 

"Gentlemen,  the  end  is  in  sight  unless  I  can  have  more 
men.  So  long  as  I  can  burrow  underground  my  half- 
clothed  and  half-starved  soldiers  will  hold  Grant  at  bay. 
I  may  hold  him  until  next  spring.  Not  longer.  The  North 
is  using  negro  troops.  They  have  enrolled  nearly  two 
hundred  thousand.  Their  man  power  counts.  We  can 
arm  our  negroes  to  meet  them.  They  will  fight  under 
the  leadership  of  their  masters.  I  speak  as  a  mathema- 
tician and  a  soldier.  I  do  not  discuss  the  sentimental  side. 
I  must  have  men  and  I  must  have  them  before  spring  or 
your  cause  is  lost." 

Robert  Toombs  of  Georgia  leaped  to  his  feet.  His 
words  came  slowly,  throbbing  with  emotion. 

"Any  suggestion  from  General  Lee  deserves  the  immedi- 
ate attention  of  this  Government.  He  speaks  to-night  as 
an  engineer  and  mathematician.  He  has  told  us  the  worst. 
It  was  his  duty.  I  honor  him  for  it. 

"But  I  differ  with  him.  He  can  see  but  one  angle  of 

411 


412 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

this  question.  He  is  a  soldier  in  field.  It  is  our  duty  to 
see  both  the  soldier's  and  the  statesman's  point  of  view. 
And  our  cause  is  not  so  desperate  as  the  science  of  engi- 
neering and  mathematics  would  tell  us. 

"The  war  of  the  revolution  was  won  by  Washington  in 
spite  of  mathematics.  The  odds  were  all  against  him. 
We  have  our  chance.  This  war  is  now  in  its  fourth  year. 
The  outlook  seems  dark  in  Richmond.  It  is  darker  in 
Washington.  What  have  they  accomplished  in  these  years 
of  blood  and  tears  ?  Nothing.  Not  a  slave  has  been  freed. 
Not  a  question  at  issue  has  found  its  solution.  The  mil- 
lions of  the  North  are  in  despair  and  they  are  crying  for 
peace — peace  at  any  price.  The  Presidential  election  is 
but  a  few  weeks  off.  They  have  nominated  Abraham  Lin- 
coln again  for  President.  They  had  to,  although  he  is  the 
most  unpopular  man  who  ever  sat  in  the  White  House. 
All  the  mistakes,  all  the  agony,  all  the  horrors  of  this  war, 
they  have  unjustly  heaped  on  his  drooping  shoulders. 

"McClellan  is  his  opponent  on  a  peace  platform. 

"The  Republican  Party  is  split  as  ours  was  before  the 
war.  John  C.  Fremont  is  running  on  the  Radical  ticket 
against  Lincoln.  Unless  a  miracle  happens  General 
George  B.  McClellan  will  be  elected  the  next  President. 
If  he  is,  the  war  ends  in  a  draw. 

"It's  a  fair  chance.    We  can  take  it. 

"But  our  chance  of  success  is  not  the  real  question  be- 
fore us.  It  is  a  bigger  one.  The  question  before  you  is 
bigger  than  the  South.  It  is  bigger  than  the  Republic. 
It  is  bigger  than  the  Continent.  It  may  involve  the  future 
of  civilization. 

"The  employment  of  these  negro  troops,  clothed  in  the 
uniform  of  the  Union,  marks  the  lowest  tide  mud  to  which 
its  citizenship  has  ever  sunk.  The  profoundest  word  in 
history  is  race.  The  ancestral  soul  of  a  people  rules  its 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 413 

destiny.  What  is  the  ancestral  soul  of  the  negro?  The 
measurement  of  the  skull  of  the  Egyptian  is  exactly  the 
shape  and  size  of  six  thousand  years  ago.  Has  the  negro 
moved  upward?  This  republic  was  born  of  the  soul  of  a 
race  of  pioneer  white  freemen  who  settled  our  continent 
and  built  an  altar  within  its  Forest  Cathedral  to  Liberty 
and  Progress.  In  the  record  of  man  has  a  negro  ever 
dreamed  this  dream? 

"The  Roman  Republic  fell  and  Rome  became  a  degener- 
ate Empire.  Why?  Because  of  the  lowering  of  her  racial 
stock  by  slaves.  The  decline  of  the  Roman  spirit  was  due 
to  a  mixture  of  races.  The  flower  of  her  manhood  died 
on  her  far-flung  battle  lines.  Slaves  and  degenerates  at 
home  bred  her  future  citizens. 

"Have  we  also  placed  our  feet  on  the  path  of  oblivion? 
History  is  littered  with  the  wrecks  of  civilization.  And 
always  the  secret  is  found  in  racial  degeneracy — the  low- 
ering of  the  standard  of  racial  values.  Civilization  is  a 
name — an  effect.  Race  is  the  cause.  If  a  race  maintains 
its  soul,  it  must  remain  itself  and  it  must  breed  its  best. 
Race  is  the  result  of  thousands  of  years  of  this  selection. 
One  drop  of  negro  blood  makes  a  negro.  The  inferior 
can  always  blot  out  the  superior  if  granted  equality. 

"This  uniform  is  the  first  step  toward  racial  oblivion 
for  the  white  man  in  America.  It  is  the  first  step  toward 
equality.  A  people  of  half  breeds  have  no  soul.  They  are 
always  ungovernable.  The  negro  is  the  lowest  species  of 
man.  Through  Slavery  he  has  been  disciplined  into  the 
family  of  humanity.  We  cannot  yet  grant  him  equality. 
Abraham  Lincoln  who  has  consented  to  arm  these  blacks 
against  us  has  himself  said: 

"  'There  is  a  physical  difference  between  the  white  and 
black  races  which  will  forever  forbid  them  living  together 
on  terms  of  political  or  social  equality.' 


414 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"How  can  he  prevent  social  and  political  equality  once 
these  black  men  are  clothed  with  the  dignity  of  the  uni- 
form of  a  Nation?  He  has  declared  his  intention  of  colon- 
izing the  negro  race.  General  Lee  also  holds  this  as  the 
solution.  If  Slavery  falls,  it  is  the  only  solution. 

"In  the  meantime  we  hold  fast  to  the  faith  within  us. 
Dare  to  arm  a  negro,  drill  and  teach  him  to  kill  white 
men,  and  we  are  traitors  to  country,  traitors  to  humanity, 
traitors  to  civilization.  Robert  E.  Lee  himself  is  the 
supreme  contradiction  of  the  sentimental  mush  involved 
in  the  dogma  of  equality.  His  genius  find  character  is  a 
racial  product. 

"The  man  in  gray  stands  for  two  things,  Reverence  for 
Law  and  the  Racial  Supremacy  of  the  White  Man. 

"If  we  must  clothe  negroes  in  gray  to  save  the  Confed- 
eracy, let  it  go  down  in  blood  and  ashes.  We'll  stand  for 
this.  And  hand  our  ideal  down  to  our  children.  If  de- 
feat shall  come,  we  may  yet  live  to  save  the  Republic. 
We  hold  a  message  for  Humanity." 

There  was  no  further  discussion.  The  South  chose  death 
before  racial  treason. 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

THE  miracle  which  Toombs  feared  came  to  pass.    In 
the  blackest  hour  of  the  Lincoln  administration,  his 
own  party  despaired  of  his  election.     The  National 
Republican  Committee  came  to  Washington  and  demanded 
that  he  withdraw  from  the  ticket  and  allow  them  to  name 
a  candidate  who  might  have  a  chance  against  General 
McClellan  and  his  peace  platform. 

And  then  it  happened. 

Sherman  suddenly  took  Atlanta  and  swung  His  legions 
toward  the  sea.  A  black  pall  of  smoke  marked  his  trail. 
The  North  leaped  once  more  with  the  elemental  impulse. 
A  wave  of  war  enthusiasm  swept  Lincoln  back  into  the 
White  House.  And  a  new  line  of  blue  soldiers  streamed 
to  Grant's  front. 

The  ragged  men  in  gray  were  living  on  parched  corn. 
Grant  edged  his  blue  legions  farther  and  farther  south- 
ward until  he  saw  the  end  of  the  mortal  trenches  Lee's 
genius  had  built.  The  lion  sprang  on  his  exposed  flank 
and  Petersburg  was  doomed. 

The  Southern  Commander  sent  his  fated  message  to 
Richmond  that  he  must  uncover  the  Capital  of  the  Con- 
federacy, and  staggered  out  of  his  trenches  to  attempt  a 
union  of  forces  with  Johnston's  army  in  North  Carolina. 

Grant's  host  were  on  his  heels,  his  guns  thundering,  his 
cavalry  destroj'ing. 

415 


416 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

A  negro  regiment  entered  Richmond  as  the  flames  of 
the  burning  city  licked  the  skies. 

Lee  paused  at  Appomattox  to  await  the  coining  of  his 
provision  train.  His  headquarters  were  fixed  beneath  an 
apple  tree  in  full  bloom. 

He  bent  anxiously  over  a  field  map  with  his  Adjutant. 
His  face  was  clouded  with  deep  anxiety. 

"Why  doesn't  Gordon  report?"  he  cried.  "We've  sent 
three  couriers.  They  haven't  returned.  Grant  has  not 
only  closed  the  road  to  Lynchburg,  he  has  pushed  a  wedge 
into  our  lines  and  cut  Gordon  off.  If  he  has,  we're  in  a 
trap—" 

"It  couldn't  have  happened  in  an  hour!"  Taylor  pro- 
tested. 

"Order  Fitzhugh  Lee  to  concentrate  every  horse  for 
Gordon's  support  and  call  in  Alexander  for  a  confer- 
ence." 

Taylor  hastened  to  execute  the  command  and  Lee  sat 
down  under  the  flower-draped  tree. 

Sam  approached  bearing  a  tray. 

"De  coffee's  all  ready,  Marse  Robert — 'ceptin'  dey  ain't 
no  coffee  in  it.  Does  ye  want  a  cup?  Hit's  good,  hot 
black  water,  sah!" 

Lee's  eyes  were  not  lifted. 

"No,  Sam,  thank  you." 

The  faithful  negro  shook  his  head  and  walked  back  to 
his  sorry  kitchen. 

Taylor  handed  his  order  to  a  dust-covered  courier. 

"Take  this  to  Fitz  Lee." 

The  courier  scratched  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  General  Fitz  Lee,  sir." 

"The  devil  you  don't.     What  division  are  you  from?" 

"Dunno,  sir.      Been  cut  to  pieces  so  many  times  and 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 417 

changed  commanders  so  much  I  dunno  who  the  hell  I  be- 
long to — " 

"How'd  you  get  here?" 

"Detailed  for  the  day." 

"You  know  General  John  B.  Gordon?" 

The  dusty  figure  stiffened. 

"I'm  from  Georgia." 

"Take  this  to  him." 

Taylor  handed  the  man  his  order  as  the  thunder  of  a 
line  of  artillery  opened  on  the  left. 

"Which  way  is  General  Gordon  ?"  the  courier  asked. 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know.  Get  to  him.  Follow  the 
line  of  that  firing.  You'll  find  him  where  it's  hottest. 
Get  back  here  quick  if  you  have  to  kill  your  horse." 

Sam  came  back  with  his  tray. 

"I  got  yo'  breakfus'  an'  dinner  both  now,  Marse  Rob- 
ert." 

Lee  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"Too  tired  now.     Eat  it  for  me,  Sam — " 

Sam  turned  quickly. 

"Yassah.    I  do  de  bes'  I  kin  fur  ye." 

As  Sam  went  back  to  the  kitchen  he  motioned  to  a 
ragged  soldier  who  stood  with  his  wife  and  little  girl  gazing 
at  the  General. 

"Dar  he  is.     Go  right  up  an'  tell  him." 

Sweeney  approached  Lee  timidly.  The  wife  and  girl 
hung  back. 

He  tried  to  bow  and  salute  at  the  same  time. 

"Excuse  me  for  coming,  General  Lee,  but  my  com- 
pany's halted  there  in  the  woods.  You've  stopped  in  a  few 
yards  of  my  house,  sir.  Won't  you  come  in  and  make  it 
your  headquarters?" 

"No,  my  good  friend.    I  won't  disturb  your  home." 

The  wife  edged  near. 


418  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"It's  no  trouble  at  all,  sir.  We'd  be  so  proud  to  have 
you." 

"Thank  you.  I  always  use  my  tent,  Madame.  I'll  not 
be  here  long." 

"Please  come,  sir!"  the  man  urged. 

Lee  studied  his  face. 

"Haven't  I  seen  you  before,  my  friend?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I'm  the  man  who  brought  the  news  that  Gen- 
jeral  Stuart  had  fallen  at  Yellow  Tavern." 

Lee  grasped  his  hand. 

"Oh,  I  remember.  You're  Sweeney — Sweeney  whose 
banjo  he  loved  so  well.  And  this  is  your  wife  and  little 
girl?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  Mrs.  Sweeney  answered. 

The  Commander  pressed  her  hand  cordially. 

"I'm  glad  to  know  you,  Mrs.  Sweeney.  Your  husband's 
music  was  a  great  joy  to  General  Stuart." 

The  little  girl  handed  him  a  bunch  of  violets.  He 
stooped,  kissed  her  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

"You'd  like  your  papa  to  come  back  home  from  the  war 
and  stay  with  you  always,  wouldn't  you,  dear?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  breathed. 

"Maybe  he  will,  soon." 

"You  see,  General,"  Sweeney  said,  "when  my  Chief  fell, 
I  threw  my  banjo  away  and  got  a  musket." 

"If  I  only  had  Stuart  here  to-day !"  Lee  sighed. 

"He'd  cut  his  way  through,  sir,  with  a  shout  and  a 
laugh,"  Sweeney  boasted. 

A  courier  handed  Lee  a  dispatch  and  Sweeney  edged 
away.  The  Commander  read  the  message  with  a  frown 
and  crumpled  the  paper  in  his  hand.  The  wagons  at 
Appomattox  had  been  cut  to  pieces.  His  army  had  noth- 
ing to  eat.  They  had  been  hungry  for  two  days  and 
nights. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 419 

"It's  more  than  flesh  can  bear,  Taylor — and  yet  listen 
to  those  guns !  They're  still  fighting  this  morning.  Fight- 
ing like  tigers.  Grant's  closing  in  with  a  hundred  thou- 
sand men.  Unless  Gordon  breaks  through  within  an  hour 
— he's  got  us — " 

Lee  gazed  toward  the  sound  of  the  guns  on  the  left. 
His  face  was  calm  but  his  carriage  was  no  longer  quite 
erect.  The  agony  of  sleepless  nights  had  plowed  furrows 
in  his  forehead.  His  eyes  were  red.  His  cheeks  were 
sunken  and  haggard.  His  face  was  colorless.  And  yet  He 
was  calmly  deliberate  in  every  movement. 

An  old  man,  flushed  with  excitement,  staggered  up  to 
him. 

Lee  started. 

"Ruffin— you  here?" 

"General  Lee,"  he  began,  "will  you  hear  me  for  just  one 
moment  ?" 

"Certainly." 

Lee  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"But  how  did  you  get  into  my  lines — I  thought  I  was 
surrounded?" 

"I  came  out  of  Richmond  with  General  Alexander's  rear 
guard,  sir,  six  days  ago." 

"Oh,  I  see." 

"Ten  years  ago,  General  Lee,  in  your  house,  I  predicted 
this  war.  Last  week  I  saw  the  city  in  flames  and  I  hope 
to  God  every  house  was  in  ashes  before  that  regiment  of 
negro  cavalry  galloped  through  its  streets." 

"I  trust  not,  Ruffin.    I  left  my  wife  and  children  there." 

"I  hope  they're  safe,  sir." 

"They're  in  God's  hands." 

A  courier  handed  Lee  a  dispatch  which  he  read  aloud. 

"President  Davis  has  been  forced  to  flee  from  Danville 
and  all  communication  with  him  has  been  cut." 


420 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"General  Lee,"  Ruffin  cried  excitedly,  "this  country  is 
now  in  your  hands." 

"What  would  you  have  me  do  ?" 

"Fight  until  the  last  city  is  in  ashes  and  the  last  man 
falls  in  his  tracks.  Fools  at  your  headquarters  have  been 
talking  for  two  days  of  surrender.  It  can't  be  done.  It 
can't  be  done.  If  you  surrender  do  you  know  what  will 
happen?" 

"I've  tried  to  think." 

"I'll  tell  you,  sir.  TKaddeus  Stevens,  the  Radical 
Leader  of  Congress,  has  already  prepared  the  bill  to  take 
the  ballot  from  the  Southern  white  man  and  give  it  to  the 
negro.  The  property  of  the  whites  he  proposed  to  con- 
fiscate and  give  to  their  slaves.  He  will  clothe  the  negro 
with  all  power  and  set  him  to  rule  over  his  former  mas- 
ters." 

Lee  answered  roughly. 

"Nonsense,  Ruffin.  I  am  better  informed.  Senator 
Washburn,  Mr.  Lincoln's  spokesman,  entered  Richmond 
with  the  Federal  army.  He  says  that  the  President  will 
remove  the  negro  troops  from  the  United  States  as  soon 
as  peace  is  declared.  He  has  a  bill  in  Congress  to  colonize 
the  negro  race." 

"Stevens  is  the  master  of  Congress." 

"If  the  North  wins,  Lincoln  will  be  tKe  master  of  Con- 
gress. We  need  fear  no  scheme  of  insane  vengeance." 

Lee  took  from  Taylor  two  despatches. 

"General  Mahone  has  taken  a  thousand  prisoners — '* 

"Glory  to  God !"  Ruffin  shoute3.  "Such  men  don't  know 
how  to  surrender!" 

"And  our  cavalry  has  captured  General  Gregg  an3  a 
squadron  of  his  men — " 

"Surrender!"  the  old  man  roare'of.  "They'll  never  sur- 
render, sir,  unless  you  say  so.  Our  wives,  our  daughters, 


_ THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 421 

our  children,  our  homes,  our  cause,  our  lives,  are  in  your 
hands.  For  God's  sake,  don't  listen  to  fools.  Don't  give 
up,  General  Lee — don't — " 

General  Alexander  sprang  from  his  horse  and  ap- 
proached his  Commander. 

Lee  spoke  in  low,  strained  tones. 

"I'm  afraid  we're  caught." 

He  turned  to  the  old  man. 

"Excuse  me,  Ruffin,  I  must  confer  with  General  Alex- 
ander." 

Ruffin's  reply  came  feebly. 

"With  your  permission  I  will — stay — at — your  head- 
quarters for  a  little  while." 

"Certainly." 

Taylor  led  the  old  man  toward  his  baggage  wagon. 

"Come  with  me,  sir.     I'll  find  you  a  cot." 

"Thank  you.  Thank  you."  His  eyes  were  dim  and  he 
walked  stumblingly.  "Surrender,  Taylor!  Surrender? 
Why,  there's  no  such  word — there's  no  such  word — " 

Lee  and  Alexander  moved  down  to  the  little  field  table. 

"We  must  decide,"  the  Commander  began,  "what  to  do 
in  case  Gordon  can't  break  through.  How  many  guns  in 
your  command?" 

"More  than  forty,  sir.  We've  just  captured  a  section 
of  Federal  artillery  in  perfect  order." 

"Forty  guns !  And  Grant  is  circling  us  with  five  hun- 
dred—" 

"We  hare  fought  big  odds  before.  We  have  ammuni- 
tion. The  artillery  has  done  little  on  this  retreat. 
They're  eager  for  a  fight,  if  you  wish  to  give  battle." 

"I  can  rally  but  eight  thousand  men  for  a  final  charge. 
They  are  tired  and  hungry.  What  have  we  got  to  do?" 

"This  means  but  one  thing,  then — " 

"Well,  sir?" 


422  THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

"Order  the  army  to  scatter — each  man  for  himself. 
They  can  slip  through  the  brush  to-night  like  quail,  and 
reach  Johnston's  army." 

"You  think  this  best?" 

"It's  the  only  thing  to  do,  sir.  Surrender — never. 
Scatter.  And  when  Grant  closes  in  to-morrow  his  hands 
will  be  empty.  He'll  find  a  few  broken  guns  and  wagons. 
Our  men  will  be  safe  beyond  his  lines  and  ready  to  fight 
again." 

"That's  the  plan!"  Taylor  joined. 

"We  can  beat  Grant  that  way,  General.  The  Confed- 
eracy may  win  by  delay.  At  least  by  delay  we  can  give 
the  State  Governments  time  to  make  their  own  terms  as 
States.  If  you  surrender,  it's  all  over." 

"I  do  not  think  the  North  will  acknowledge  the  sover- 
eignty of  the  States  at  this  late  day." 

"It  is  reported  that  Lincoln  has  offered  to  accept  the 
surrender  of  States  and  make  terms — " 

"This  would,  of  course,"  Lee  slowly  answered,  "prolong 
the  war  as  long  as  one  held  out — " 

"And  don't  forget,  sir,"  Alexander  urged  stoutly,  "that 
the  single  State  of  Texas  is  three  times  larger  than  France. 
She  has  countless  head  of  cattle  and  horses  on  her  plains. 
She  can  equip  armies.  Her  warlike  sons,  with  you  to  lead 
them,  would  laugh  at  conquest  for  the  next  ten  years.  The 
territory  of  the  South  is  too  vast  to  be  held  except  at  a 
cost  the  North  cannot  afford  to  pay — " 

" Armies  may  march  across  it,"  Taylor  interrupted,  "a 
million  soldiers  could  not  hold  it  unless  you  surrender!" 

"Guerilla  warfare  is  a  desperate  resort,"  Lee  answered 
sadly. 

"There  are  things  worse,"  Alexander  cried  passionately. 
"This  army  is  ready  to  die  to  a  man  before  we  will  submit 
to  unconditional  surrender.  The  men  who  have  fought 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 423 

under  you  for  these  three  tragic  years  have  the  right  to 
demand  that  you  spare  us  this  shame!" 

"General  Grant  will  not  ask  unconditional  surrender. 
I  have  been  in  correspondence  with  him  for  two  days.  He 
has  already  put  his  terms  in  writing.  They  are  generous. 
All  officers  may  retain  their  swords  and  every  horse  go 
home  for  the  spring  plowing.  He  merely  requires  our 
parole  not  to  take  up  arms  again." 

"He  would  offer  no  such  terms,"  Alexander  argued, 
"unless  he  knew  you  yet  had  a  chance  to  win — " 

Lee  waved  his  hand. 

"Our  only  chance  is  to  continue  the  struggle  by  a  fierce 
guerilla  war — " 

"For  God's  sake,  let's  do  it,  sir!" 

"Can  we,"  the  calm  voice  went  on,  "as  Christian  sol- 
diers, choose  such  a  course?  We've  fought  bravely  for 
what  we  believed  to  be  right.  If  I  enter  a  guerilla  strug- 
gle, what  will  be  the  result?  Years  of  bloody  savagery. 
Our  own  men,  demoralized  by  war,  would  supply  their 
wants  by  violence  and  plunder.  I  could  not  control  them. 
And  so  raid  and  counter-raid.  Houses  pillaged  and 
burned  by  friend  and  foe.  Crops  destroyed.  All  industry 
paralyzed.  Women  violated.  We  might  force  the  Federal 
Government  at  last  to  make  some  sort  of  compromise. 
But  at  what  a  cost — what  a  cost !" 

"You  can  control  our  men,"  Alexander  maintained. 
"Your  name  is  magic.  The  South  will  obey  you." 

Lee  gazed  earnestly  into  the  face  of  his  gallant  young 
Commander  of  Artillery  and  said : 

"If  I  wield  such  power  over  our  people,  is  it  not  a  sacred 
trust?  Is  it  not  my  duty  now  to  use  it  for  their  healing, 
and  not  their  ruin?" 

General  John  B.  Gordon  suddenly  rode  up  and  sprang 
from  his  horse. 


424 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

Lee  eagerly  turned. 

"General  Gordon — you  have  cut  through?" 

"I  have  secured  a  temporary  truce  to  report  to  you  in 
person.  I  have  fought  my  corps  to  a  frazzle.  The  road  is 
still  blocked  and  I  cannot  move." 

"What  is  your  advice?"  Lee  asked. 

"Your  decision  settles  it,  sir." 

A  courier  plunged  toward  the  group  on  a  foaming 
horse. 

"Fitzhugh  Lee's  cavalry's  broken  through !"  he  shouted. 
"The  way's  opened.  The  whole  army  can  pass !" 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  Gordon  growled. 

"It's  too  good  to  be  true,"  Taylor  said. 

"It's  true !"  Alexander  exclaimed,  "of  course  it's  true !" 

"You  come  from  Longstreet?"  Lee  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir.    He  asks  instructions." 

"Tell  him  to  use  his  discretion.     He's  on  the  spot." 

The  courier  wheeled  and  rode  back  as  the  crash  of  a 
musket  rang  out  beside  the  baggage  wagon. 

"What's  that?"  Taylor  asked  sharply. 

"It  can't  be  an  attack,"  Gordon  wondered.  "A  truce  is 
in  force." 

Sam  rushed  to  Lee. 

"Hit's  Marse  Ruffin,  sah,"  he  whispered.  "He  put  de 
muzzle  er  de  gun  in  his  mouf  an'  done  blow  his  own  head 
clean  off!" 

"See  to  him,  Taylor,"  Lee  ordered.  "The  old  ones  will 
quit,  I'm  afraid." 

A  courier  rode  up  and  handed  him  another  dispatch. 
He  read  it  slowly. 

"Fitzhugh  Lee  says  the  message  was  a  mistake,  the  road 
is  still  blocked.  Only  a  company  of  raiders  broke 
through." 

"It's  too  bad,"  Gordon  said. 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 425 

"It's  hell,"  Alexander  groaned.  "Let's  scatter,  sir! 
It's  the  only  way.  Issue  the  order  at  once — " 

A  sentinel  saluted. 

"Colonel  Babcock,  aide  to  General  U.  S.  Grant,  has 
come  for  your  answer,  sir." 

All  eyes  were  fixed  on  Lee. 

"Tell  Babcock  I'll  see  him  in  a  moment." 

An  ominous  silence  fell.  Lee  lifted  his  head  and  spoke 
firmly. 

"We've  played  our  parts,  gentlemen,  in  a  hopeless  trag- 
edy, pitiful,  terrible.  At  least  eight  hundred  thousand  of 
our  noblest  sons  are  dead  and  mangled.  A  million  more 
will  die  of  poverty  and  disease.  Every  issue  could  have 
been  settled  and  better  settled  without  the  loss  of  a  drop 
of  blood.  The  slaves  are  freed  by  an  accident.  An  acci- 
dent of  war's  necessity — not  on  principle.  The  manner 
of  their  sudden  emancipation,  unless  they  are  removed, 
will  bring  a  calamity  more  appalling  than  the  war  itself. 
It  must  create  a  Race  Problem  destined  to  grow  each  day 
more  threatening  and  insoluble.  Yet  if  I  had  to  live  it  all 
over  again  I  could  only  do  exactly  what  I  have  done — " 

He  paused. 

"And  now  I'll  go  at  once  to  General  Grant." 

He  took  two  steps  to  cross  the  stile  over  the  fence,  and 
turned  as  a  cry  of  pain  burst  from  Alexander's  lips.  He 
sank  to  a  seat,  bowed  his  face  in  his  hands  and  groaned: 

"Oh,  my  God,  I  can't  believe  it!  I  can't  believe  it. 
After  all  these  years  of  blood.  I  can't  believe  it — my  God 
— to  think  that  this  is  the  end !" 

"I  know,  General  Alexander,"  Lee  spoke  gently,  "that 
my  surrender  means  the  end.  It  has  come  and  we  must 
face  it.  We  must  accept  the  results  in  good  faith  and  turn 
our  faces  toward  the  east.  Yesterday  is  dead.  To-morrow 
is  ours — " 


426 THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 

His  voice  softened. 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you  now,  that  I  had  rather  die  a 
thousand  deaths  than  go  to  General  Grant.  Dying  is  the 
easiest  thing  that  I  could  do  at  this  moment.  I  could  ride 
out  front  along  the  lines  for  five  minutes  and  it  would  be 
all  over.  But  the  men  who  know  how  to  die  must  do 
harder  things.  I  call  you,  sir,  to  this  battle  grimmer  than 
death — to  this  nobler  task — we've  got  to  live  now !" 

Alexander  slowly  rose  with  Gordon  and  both  men  sa- 
luted. 

Within  an  hour  he  was  returning  from  the  meeting  with 
his  brave  and  generous  conqueror.  A  loud  cheer  rang  over 
the  Confederate  lines. 

"It's  Lee  returning  along  the  road  crowded  with  his 
men,"  Gordon  explained. 

Another  cheer  echoed  through  the  forests. 

Gordon  smiled. 

"Alexander  the  Great,  when  he  conquered  a  world,  never 
got  the  tribute  which  Lee  is  receiving  from  those  men. 
There's  not  one  in  their  ranks  who  wouldn't  die  for  him." 

Louder  and  louder  rolled  the  cheers  mingled  now  with 
the  pet  name  his  soldiers  loved. 

"Marse  Robert!     Marse  Robert!" 

Alexander's  eyes  flashed. 

"The  hour  of  his  surrender,  the  supreme  triumph  of 
his  life." 

Lee  rode  slowly  into  view  on  Traveler's  gray  back.  The 
men  were  crowding  close.  They  cried  softly.  They 
touched  his  saddle,  his  horse  and  tried  to  reach  his  hands. 

He  lifted  his  right  arm  over  their  heads  and  they  were 
still. 

"My  heart's  too  full  for  speech,  my  men.  I  have  done 
for  you  all  that  was  in  my  power.  You  have  done  your 
duty.  We  leave  the  rest  to  God.  Go  quietly  to  your 


THE  MAN  IN  GRAY 427 

homes  now  and  work  to  build  up  our  ruined  country. 
Obey  the  laws  and  be  as  good  citizens  as  you  have  been 
soldiers.  I'm  going  to  try  to  do  this.  Will  you  help 
me?" 

"That  we  will !" 

"Yes." 

"Yes." 

"Goodbye." 

"Goodbye,  Marse  Robert!" 

Grizzled  veterans  were  sobbing  like  children. 

The  war  had  ended — the  most  futile  and  ferocious  of 
human  follies.  When  it  shall  cease  on  earth  at  last,  then, 
and  not  until  then,  will  the  soul  of  man  leap  to  its  final 
triumph,  for  the  energy  of  the  universe  will  flow  through 
the  fingers  of  workmen,  artists,  authors,  inventors  and 
healers.  On  this  issue  the  saving  of  a  world  awaits  the 
word  of  the  mothers  of  men. 

(5) 
THE    END 


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WILDFIRE 

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CHIP  OF  THE  FLYING  U.    Wherein  the  love  affairs  of  Chip  and 

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THE  HAPPY  FAMILY.     A  lively  and  amusing  story,  dealing  with 

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THE  SKY  PILOT  IN  NO  MAN'S  LAND 

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KATHLEEN   NORRIS*  STORIES 

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SISTERS.  Frontispiece  by  Frank  Street. 

The  California  Redwoods  furnish  the  background  for  this 
beautiful  story  of  sisterly  devotion  and  sacrifice. 

POOR.  DEAR.  MARGARET  KIRBY. 

Frontispiece  by  George  Gibbs. 

A  collection  of  delightful  stories,  including  "  Bnuging  the 
Years"  and  "The  Tide-Marsh. "  This  story  is  now  shown  in 
moving  pictures. 

JOSSELYN'S  WIFE.  Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

The  story  of  a  beautiful  woman  who  fought  a  bitter  fight  for 
happiness  and  love. 

MARTIE.  THE  UNCONQUERED. 
Illustrated  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 
The  triumph  of  a  dauntless  spirit  over  adverse  conditions. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 
Frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

An  interesting  story  of  divorce  and  the  problems  that  come 
with  a  second  marriage. 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA  PAGE. 
Frontispiece  by  C.  Allan  Gilbert. 

A  sympathetic  portrayal  of  the  quest  of  a  normal  girl,  obscure 
and  lonely,  for  the  happiness  of  life. 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD.    Frontispiece  by  F.  Graham  Cootes. 

Can  a  girl,  born  in  rather  sordid  conditions,  lift  herself  through 
sheer  determination  to  the  better  things  for  which  her  soul 
hungered  ? 

MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

A  story  of  the  big  mother  heart  that  beats  in  the  background 
of  every  girl' s  life,  and  lome  dreams  which  came  true. 

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GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


"STORM  COUNTRY"  BOOKS  BY 

GRACE  MILLER  WHITE 

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JUDY  OF  ROGUES'  HARBOR 

Judy's  untutored  ideas  of  God,  her  love  of  wild  things, 
her  faith  in  life  are  quite  as  inspiring  as  those  of  Tess. 
Her  faith  and  sincerity  catch  at  your  heart  strings.  This 
book  has  all  of  the  mystery  and  tense  action  of  the  other 
Storm  Country  books. 

TESS  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

It  was  as  Tess,  beautiful,  wild,  impetuous,  that  Mary 
Pickford  made  her  reputation  as  a  motion  picture  actress. 
How  love  acts  upon  a  temperament  such  as  hers — a  tem- 
perament that  makes  a  woman  an  angel  or  an  outcast,  ac- 
cording to  the  character  of  the  man  she  loves — is  the 
theme  of  the  story. 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  STORM  COUNTRY 

The  sequel  to  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country,"  with  the 
same  wild  background,  with  its  half-gypsy  life  of  the  squat- 
ters— tempestuous,  passionate,  brooding.  Tess  learns  the 
"  secret "  of  her  birth  and  finds  happiness  and  love  through 
her  boundless  faith  in  We. 

FROM  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MISSING 

A  haunting  story  with  its  scene  laid  near  the  country 
familiar  to  readers  of  "  Tess  of  the  Storm  Country." 

ROSE  O'  PARADISE 

"  Jinny  "  Singleton,  wild,  lovely,  lonely,  but  with  a  pas- 
sionate yearning  for  music,  grows  up  in  the  house  of  Lafe 
Grandoken,  z  crippled  cobbler  of  the  Storm  Country.  Her 
romance  is  full  of  power  and  glory  and  tenderness. 

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GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


ELFANOR  H.  PORTER'S  NOVELS 

May  bi  had  whsrever  books  aro  sold.        Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list. 

JUST  DAVID 

The  tale  of  a  loveable  boy  and  the  place  he  comes  to 
fill  in  the  hearts  of  the  gruff  farmer  folk  to  whose  care  he 
is  left. 

THE  ROAD  TO  UNDERSTANDING 

A  compelling  romance  of  love  and  marriage. 
OH,  MONEY  !   MONEY  ! 

Stanley  Fulton,  a  wealthy  bachelor,  to  test  the  disposi- 
tions of  his  relatives,  sends  them  each  a  check  for  $100,- 
000,  and  then  as  plain  John  Smith  comes  among  them  to 
watch  the  result  of  his  experiment. 

SIX  STAR  RANCH 

A  wholesome  story  of  a  club  of  six  girls  and  their  sum- 
mer on  Six  Star  Ranch. 

DAWN 

The  story  of  a  blind  boy  whose  courage  leads  him 
through  the  gulf  of  despair  into  a  final  victory  gained  by 
dedicating  his  life  to  the  service  of  blind  soldiers. 

ACROSS  THE  YEARS 

Short  stories  of  our  own  kind  and  of  our  own  people. 
Contains  some  of  the  best  writing  Mrs.  Porter  has  done. 

THE  TANGLED  THREADS 

In  these  stories  we  find  the  concentrated  charm  and 
tenderness  of  all  her  other  books. 

THE  TIE  THAT  BINDS 

Intensely  human  stories  told  with  Mrs.  Porter's  won- 
derful talent  for  warm  and  vivid  character  drawing. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


MYRTLE    REED'S   NOVELS 

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LAVENDER  AND  OLD  LACE. 

A  charming  story  of  a  quaint  corner  of  New  England.  The  story 
centers  round  the  coming  of  love  to  the  young  people  on  the  staff 
of  a  newspaper — and  13  one  of  the  sweetest  and  quaintes  of  old- 
fashioned  love  stories. 

FLOWER  OF  THE  DUSK. 

A  crippled  daughter  struggles  to  keep  up  the  deception  of  richec 
tor  the  comfort  of  a  blind  father.  Through  the  aid  of  an  heireK 
and  her  surgeon  lover  both  father  and  daughter  are  cured. 

MASTER  OF  THE  VINEYARD, 

A  pathetic  love  story  of  a  young  girl,  Rosemary.  The  teacher  of 
the  country  school,  who  is  also  master  of  the  vineyard,  comes  to 
know  her  through  her  desire  for  books.  She  is  happy  in  his  love  till 
another  woman  comes  into  his  life.  But  happiness  comes  to  Rose- 
mary at  last. 

OLD  ROSE  AND  SILVER. 

A  love  story, — sentimental  and  humorous, — with  the  plot  subor- 
dinate to  the  character  delineation  of  its  quaint  people  and  to  the 
sxquisite  descriptions  of  picturesque  spots. 

A  WEAVER  OF  DREAMS. 

This  story  tells  of  the  love-affairs  of  three  young  people,  with  an 
old-fashioned  romance  in  the  background. 

A  SPINNER  IN  THE  SUN. 

An  old-fashioned  love  story  of  a  veiled  lady  who  lives  in  solitude. 
There  is  a  mystery  that  throws  over  it  the  glamour  of  romance, 

THE  MASTER'S  VIOLIN. 

A  love  story  in  a  musical  atmoiphere.  An  old  German  virtuoso 
consents  to  take  for  his  pupil  a  youth  who  proves  to  have  an  apti- 
tude for  technique,  but  not  the  soul  of  an  artist.  But  a  girl 
comes  into  his  life,  and  through  his  passionate  love  for  her  his  soul 
awakes. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,         PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


DEC22W7Z 


Form  L9-Series  444 


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